


The Mysterious Poison Pill Murders

by icantwritegood



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Slow Burn, Who Knows?, and creepiness, and dangerrr, bumpy start, but still the same mystery, crime syndicates woop, i aint telling tho, like i'll be editing it a bit, like the slowest burn, not STRICTLY based on the chicago tylenol murders, ryan's FBI, shane's a lawyer, they may or may not become friends, this bitch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-13 05:31:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15357333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantwritegood/pseuds/icantwritegood
Summary: Seven people die at the hands of tampered pills. Shane Madej is representing the company at fault, but his priorities begin to clash with those of the lead detective on the case, Ryan Bergara. They struggle to cooperate amid a storm of lies, fables, and crime. But really, how dangerous could this case get?





	1. Rocky Starts

_Seven. Seven seven seven_. The number whipped around in his head, even as he scrambled to get his keys from his pocket. He was late already. Very very late.  _Seven people dead_. In twenty-four hours. Ryan had dealt with murders before, of course he had. He was a detective, and a good one. But he'd never dealt with seven in one fucking day. And three from the same family? He was dreading his reception. Almost as much as he was dreading meeting this lawyer, who was probably waiting for him right now. Really, Ryan had no issue with lawyers, no personal beef. Even criminal lawyers. But he drew the line at company ones. People who defended an empire built of millions of dollars against an individual who had the balls to sue? Ryan didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit. 

He opened his car door, coffee in one hand. But even as he kicked the door open fully, he could hear the sound of a furious engine growing closer and closer, and not slowing down for even a second. Ryan whipped around to see the silver car barreling right at him. His heart froze in his chest. And then he threw himself backwards, his coffee thrown all over himself as he yanked his car door shut across him like a protective shield. The car didn't even pause, but Ryan caught a flash of sunglasses, of red and white, all in a blur. 

“Up yours, asshole!” yelled Ryan after the vehicle, stepping out into the now-safe street to flip the driver off. His heart was still pounding. "Fuck you!"

“You couldn’t handle it!” came the distant response, the car not even slowing for a second.

Ryan scowled at the voice and its contents, opening his car door forcefully. “What a dick. Jesus.” 

He took a moment to grab some napkins from his car, trying his best to dab the hot coffee off. If only he'd worn a dark shirt. He wanted to go home and switch shirts, but that would make him even later than he currently was. What he wanted to do most of all was speed off after the offending car, arrest the driver, and see the look on their face once they realized how big they'd fucked up. He paused, biting his lip as he looked at the double-yellow lines he was currently parked up on.

"Fine. Whatever."

Even after the fifteen-minute drive to the building, and the ten-minute rushed walk, he still hadn't really calmed down. But he was an emotional guy, an expressive man. He had a bit of a fiery temper, and he knew that. Not violent, not aggressive, but defiant. Which he didn't think was a bad thing. Yes, it bit him in the ass sometimes, but that was just what he was like. He could see people glancing at the dried coffee on his shirt as he hurried through the marble lobby, following the receptionist to the glamorous elevators. She hit floor fifty, then stepped out, leaving him alone in the coffin-like space.

The fiftieth floor wasn't much different from the lobby, all glass and cool marble, and dark wood. The CEO of this particular law firm awaited him.

"Detective Bergara," smiled the woman, a steely smile. "Please, this way."

"I'm so sorry I'm late," he began, shrugging off his jacket, folding it over his arm. "And I'm sorry about the coffee on my shirt. It was just a bit of a messy morning. I just got caught in traffic."

"No problem. Madej is just in too." She threw a wry look over her shoulder. "With the same traffic excuse. But not the coffee."

Ryan smiled sheepishly, following her down the hall. There were multiple meeting rooms, all occupied, and all visible through the panels of glass that replaced where a wall would normally be expected. His smile slipped completely at the sound of the voice in the distance. It stuck out among the others, it sounded familiar. And not in a nice way. He peered in the glass of the meeting room in question as he followed the CEO down, immediately searching for the owner of the voice. Who was still talking, leaning back precariously in his seat with a foot on the edge of the long table, one arm draped over the back of his chair, the other gesturing vaguely with his words. He wore a white shirt, the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, red tie loosely done, if even. His hair was ruffled, full and thick, bouncing slightly as he spoke. And really, Ryan couldn't believe it.

* * *

"The most important thing in this job, and in the world, really, is money.”

He pushed himself to his feet, wandering down the long table, the early morning sun spilling between the skyscrapers surrounding them, making the meeting room light and airy. Just the way he liked it.

“Now most of you, yeah, maybe you’ve had a stunt as a lawyer before. Maybe a criminal or two. But you have no idea what it is to be fighting a court case.” The table was cool under his hands as he leaned on it, all eyes glued to him. “Not until you fight a court case for a company. Not until you fight a court case that has millions hanging in the balance. Not until you fight a court case that guarantees ten times more enemies than allies.” Shane ignored the sound of the door opening and closing behind him; it was probably just the receptionist. “Never forget that when you’re fighting cases for a big, multi-million dollar company, the public  _will_ be against you. They sympathize with whatever poor individual has decided to sue, because they can relate to them. The jury will be against you. Hell, even the judge might be against you.” Shane tapped the table lightly. “So the fact that you’re here means you must be good. Very good. But remember one thing;  _never_  get emotionally involved with any aspect of a case.” Shane listed the following on his fingers as he wandered around the top of the table. “Don’t sympathize with the person suing. Don’t think ‘hey, this company could spare a million or so’ and just give in. And  _never_ talk to the victim. You’re a lawyer, not a fucking therapist. This is about money. It’s all about money, every single aspect.” An easy smile, strikingly different from the seriousness of the previous sentence. “Hope you settle in quick. Off you go.”

The new employees swiftly left, looking equal parts excited, equal parts anxious. Shane waited until they’d left before turning to see who had wandered in halfway. He raised an eyebrow at the stranger standing beside his boss, his fingers pausing in scratching his light beard.  _FBI jacket. Badge. Gun._ He frowned _. Coffee on his shirt? Uh oh_. He was relatively short beside his boss, Fahner. But he wasn't small, so to speak.

“Madej, this is detective Ryan Bergara. He’s here about the Tylenol murders.”

The detective was staring at him. Shane was staring back out of the corner of his eye. If the shorter man recognized him at all, he was good at hiding it. Shane recognized him, anyway; the big eyes that had widened alarmingly as Shane had sped past, the light blue shirt, but not the FBI jacket. He hadn't been wearing that. _God damnit_. There were still a few employees filing out, still chatting, oblivious to the way Shane was slowly taking in Ryan’s appearance; the mussed hair, the coffee on the front of his shirt, and the very, _very_ angry look frozen on his face. Shane took a deep breath, eyes widening slightly as he turned his head away. Yup, he had been recognized. 

“Detective, this is Shane Madej,” said Fahner, gesturing at him, even though he was now straight-up ignoring the detective. If she cared about the previous prolonged silence, she didn't make it known. “Our Chicago-based lawyer, for Johnson & Johnson. He'll be happy to help on the case.”

 _Will I?_  Shane finally turned to look at him fully, unsure of whether or not he should speak. Would his voice give him away, seal his fate? Probably. He hadn't exactly been quiet when he'd yelled back at the man.

Ryan crossed the space between them, extending a hand to him like he was pulling a gun on him. “Hi.”

Shane took the hand, biting on his lip at the painfully hard shake that followed. “ _Mm_. Yeah. Hello.”

"Heard you were late too," said the shorter man, not taking his eyes from Shane's. "What a coincidence."

Shane didn't let go of the hand. It didn't seem like Ryan was going to either. "Oh, pedestrians, y'know? Can be total idiots."

Ryan froze at this, unblinking. "Ha ha. Yeah."

"You can talk in here," said the CEO, checking her watch as she turned away, phone already out. "But don't forget about the funeral, alright?"

"Yep. Won't forget." 

The door shut, and a silence followed. The chatter from the surrounding rooms was as loud as ever, but they were encased in their own little bubble, watching each other. Wondering whether to bring up their  _first_  first meeting. Shane turned on his heel, moving back towards the table, picking up the cup of coffee he had snatched as he'd flown through the building only twenty minutes ago.

"You drink coffee?" he asked over his shoulder, checking his phone; still half-an-hour till the funeral would be starting.  _Shit_. 

"Is that a trick question?"

Shane half-turned to look at him, biting back a smile as he glanced at the man's splattered shirt. "Oh, wow. How did that happen?"

The shorter man didn't seem too amused. "I'll let you explain. Seeing as you were the one who almost obliterated me with your car an hour ago.”

Shane watched him closely, a vaguely entertained smile on his face. “How long have you been driving for, Brian?”

“Ryan,” he said icily.

“Whatever.”

“And long enough,” said Ryan, hands on his hips as he glared up at him. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Then surely you know what a double yellow line looks like.” Shane held up a finger on each hand, placing them side-by-side. “Kinda like this, except much more clear and unmistakable and glaringly obvious.”

Ryan narrowed his eyes, grip tightening on his hips. “Well I believe one of the first things you’re taught while driving is to drive within the speed limit, Mister Eighty-In-A-Sixty-Zone.”

“I was late,” said Shane firmly, also with his hands on his hips. “For this.”

“Me too,” replied Ryan through gritted teeth. “But you didn’t see me almost killing someone.”

“No. No, I saw you taking your sweet time and wandering off to buy a coffee instead. Clearly you have your priorities sorted.” Shane looked him up and down with open dislike, leaning back against the long table, hands in his pockets. "At least I was hauling ass to get here."

Ryan turned his head aside, sighing sharply. "Look, I'm not here to argue."

"Nah, you're here to be a hypocrite, apparently."

Okay, this guy was really beginning to push his buttons. "How much do you know about what's happened?"

Shane paused at this turn in conversation, chin tilted up. "I know seven people died."

"And that's all?"

"I know it was poisoned Tylenol," he shrugged. "I know I have to try and smooth this all over. I know it's gonna cost the company around a hundred million to recall all the necessary bottles, and to replace them, and to provide rewards in return for information. That's all."

Ryan raised an eyebrow, quiet. "The necessary bottles?"

"The ones with the control number." He waved a hand. "I don't know, some number that all the poisoned bottles had in common. They're the only ones poisoned so far."

"So far," repeated Ryan heavily. "What if there's others out there poisoned? What if other people die after you've recalled the thirty-one million?"

Shane shrugged, a helpless gesture. "We can't recall all of them."

Ryan's eyes widened, looking horrified at the man standing in front of him. "Uh, yeah you can."

"We won't," replied Shane firmly, the other man's wide eyes instantly narrowing. "This is a business at the end of the day, detective. I suggested recalling a huge chunk of the bottles, but if we recall all of them, we're out of business." He clicked his fingers. "Just like that."

"So it's all about money." The sentence was icy.

"Yes," said Shane just as icily. "As I just said, we are a business. We operate for money. Because that's how businesses work."

"I know how businesses work, smart guy." Ryan still looked disgusted, but it was gradually turning to dislike. "So seven people die because of your company, and all you care about is money."

"What I suggested will cost around one hundred million dollars, detective. That's not fucking nothing." Shane moved closer to him, hands still in his pockets. He could see the fiery resistance in the other man's eyes, but decided against fanning it. It was too early. Both in the day, and in the series of events. "If we're done here, I think you can go."

Ryan waited for something more, anything. "So that's all you're doing? Recalling the bottles?"

"What else should I suggest, hm?" Shane remained where he was as the other man stalked off towards the door. "Any bright ideas?"

"You should be providing the families with everything they need," replied Ryan sharply, half-turning to glare at him. His jacket was still bunched in his fist. "At the very least."

"Oh, yes, of course." Shane waved a vague hand in the air as he spoke. "And then I can take them all down to the chocolate river, and pick candyfloss from the trees."

Ryan's face was blank with anger as he turned back to face him fully. "Seven people fucking died. There's someone out there who's poisoned medicine and killed  _seven fucking people_."

“I don’t deal in lives,” replied Shane coolly, arms folded across his chest, chin tilted up in an openly disdainful manner as he wandered down the table. “My job isn’t to care. My job is to protect the company I work for from getting sued for potential millions."

Ryan's eyes were narrowed in open loathing as he looked him up and down. "And here I was, thinking you might be a bit more human than the other total robots I've met. Turns out you're worse than any of them."

"It's early," said Shane after a long pause, not taking his eyes from the shorter man's. "You mustn't be a morning person. I'd suggest taking time to calm down before trying to work, detective."

The other man watched him for a long moment, his sharp exhale audible even from the distance that was between them. "I have a long day ahead of me. Don't make it longer, please."

Shane gave a small nod, almost friendly, but not quite. "Of course. My sincerest apologies."

Ryan turned away with a half-visible roll of his eyes. "Pleasure."

"All mine." He raised his voice slightly as the door closed. "See you at the funeral!"

"Hopefully not!"

“And clean yourself up, yeah? You’re meant to be a professional.”

Shane remained standing for a long while after the door shut, watching the short figure storm off down the hall, shrug on his jacket. Then Shane sat, a hand resting pensively across his mouth. That hadn't gone well. At all. But it was early, way too early to expect either of them to act rationally. And maybe the company  _should_  do more than recall some bottles. But what else could they do? He turned his head to glower out the window, at the building across the way, the other fiftieth floor. The other tower seemed so close on the street, but up this high, it was an eternity away. Shane turned his gaze away, following a helicopter in the distance, the growing clouds behind it. It was just a bumpy start, that was all. Nothing to really worry about. They were both professionals. And even though Shane was well aware he had a bit of an attitude, he wasn't disliked. He just didn't take any shit. 

* * *

The rain was just beginning to fall, heavy droplets, loud and unashamed of the additional sadness it was adding to the event. Ryan shrugged his coat tighter around himself, watching the coffin being carried down the slick stone steps. He sighed heavily, the umbrella keeping him relatively dry. Steven stood beside him, huddled under the umbrella, a sad look on his face as the next coffin followed.

"Sucks," he muttered. "Three in the same family."

"Can't even imagine what they're going through," replied Ryan, feeling the usual sadness that he felt at the beginning of a case creep in. It would turn to anger soon enough. Determination. It always did. "Whoever did this is a real sick son of a bitch."

Steven threw him a glance. "You went to Johnson & Johnson yet?"

"Yeah. This morning." Ryan rolled his eyes. "Bit of a jerk-off."

"Hm? Their lawyer?"

"Yeah. The usual." He readjusted his grip on the umbrella, keeping his voice low amid the mourners. A large crowd had gathered; the funerals were open events, in the hope that the killer might poke his head out. "Total Mister Krabs."

Steven nodded understandably. "Of course. What did you expect, man?"

"I didn't expect anything," shrugged Ryan, pressing his lips together for a moment. "I just hoped."

And speak of the Devil, there he was. The man's tall figure was unmissable as he wove through the crowd across the way, the slight breeze ruffling his hair, styling it with tiny fingers of rain. He was with the regional CEO, Miriam Fahner. He always seemed to be with her. It was pretty evident he was the right-hand man in the whole scenario, even though he tried to act the helpless employee. Ryan inhaled deeply, watching him light up a cigarette, the flame illuminating his sharp features. He still wore the white shirt and red tie, visible under his black high-necked coat. His eyes landed on Ryan's, just for the slightest of seconds. By the time the lighter went out, his gaze had moved on. Ryan did the same.

"That's a bit of a problem for you, isn't it?" said Steven with a raised eyebrow. "Hoping."

Ryan threw him a dry look. "And you don't?"

"I'm just enthusiastic!"

"You can say that again." Ryan gave him a sly nudge, seeing a few insulted glances thrown there way. "Bad choice of sentence, bro."

"Woops."

The gathered crowd moved on after the coffins had been placed into their respective hearses, family members and friends and complete strangers alike leaking away to their cars. Ryan hung behind with his partner, the two of them returning the sad looks and the empathetic faces thrown their way. Until one wandered into view, not looking especially sad. Just about sad enough for the occasion. Ryan fought the urge to roll his eyes, instead just turning his head away. The guy would hopefully just move on. But Ryan was soon to be introduced to the fact that Shane could resist doling out snide comments about as well as a raccoon could resist rummaging through trash. 

"Publicizing the funerals?" The lawyer was standing a few feet away, to avoid a spoke of an umbrella up his pointy nose. His hand was half-heartedly raised, the cigarette still smoldering, the other hand in his pocket. "I thought you cared deeply for the emotional trauma of the families. Or do I remember that wrong."

Ryan tilted the umbrella slightly to see the taller man's face properly. "Would you like something?"

Shane looked thoughtful for a moment, the cigarette hovering inches from his mouth. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like for us to have a fresh start."

Ryan raised his eyebrows at this. "A fresh start?"

"I was a bit snarky this morning," said Shane with a small shrug. "I'll admit that. So I guess this is an apology."

Well, this was entirely unexpected. "Alright. Well, thank you." Ryan extended a hand, for the second time that day. "Perhaps a counter-apology is due?"

"Perhaps," replied the taller man with a half-smile, shaking the offered hand. Warmer this time. "Only hypothetical, hm?"

Ryan gave a dry smile, unaware of the fact that the rain was now trickling right off his umbrella onto the disgruntled Steven's head beside him. "For now."

"Well then I hypothetically accept it." Shane glanced at the car Fahner was lingering beside, the vehicle glistening with the raindrops clinging to it. "I'm sure I'll see you around."

"Into the Kill-Mobile 3000, hm?" said Ryan flatly. "Make sure not to create anymore human pancakes."

"Huh. Droll." 

Shane didn't look back as he made his way through the milling crowd, black against black against black, the smoke of his cigarette curling up into the drizzle that was still falling. Ryan handed the umbrella over to his confused coworker before taking off after the taller man, weaving through the chattering crowd after him. Shane seemed to notice he was being followed, glancing back over his shoulder, wandering to a halt with a puzzled raise of an eyebrow. 

"I was meant to give this to you earlier," said Ryan, trying to hide his breathlessness as he took his card from his jacket pocket. "But got a bit distracted. I'm sure you understand."

Shane took the card, studying it like a great scholar would study an interesting book. _Special Agent Ryan Bergara_. "And why would I be needing this, hm?"

"The company you work for is gonna be coming under some intense scrutiny, you know."

"I know."

"By the public," continued Ryan, the drizzle pattering lightly off his jacket. "And by us."

Shane frowned at him over the card. "I still don't see why I'd need to contact you."

Ryan raised an eyebrow at this. "You know what can make a company in your situation look better in the media?"

Shane's frown vanished as it clicked. "Ah. Cooperation." He slipped the small card into his pocket with an equally small smile. "Which I will willingly provide on behalf of Johnson & Johnson, of course."

"I thought so." Ryan nodded towards the pocket the card was now hidden in as he wandered backwards. "Don't be a stranger, yeah?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," replied the taller man with an almost thoughtful look on his face. This look didn't slip, even as Ryan turned away, heading back through the crowd. "Hm."

Ryan quickly relocated Steven, spying the blonde head amid the sea of black. "Hey, sorry about that. Forgot to give him my card earlier."

"Who _was_ that?" asked Steven, letting him back under the umbrella. 

"The lawyer," replied Ryan, the two of them aiming for the car. "For Johnson & Johnson."

Steven hummed pensively. "You had a bad start or something?"

Ryan laughed sharply, almost a bitter sound. "Yeah. Yeah, a little bit."

Steven grinned. "Should I ask?"

"Nope." Ryan began moving back towards the car, still keeping an eye out for any suspicious behavior. It was all normal, really. Normal for a funeral being publicized and recorded by the police. "We gotta go to the actual burial now, though."

"Ugh. Grim."

"Yeah." Ryan opened the car, shrugging off his wet jacket before sitting into the driver's seat. "You can say that again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/SkpeB7etL9A
> 
> the inspo for the beginning of this chapter (lucille bluth is the one true queen)


	2. Shady Deals

“So wait.” Shane pressed the lowest button on the elevator grid, labelled only with an ominous ’M’. “There’s  _twelve hundred_  leads? How the hell did you come up with that many?”

“Lot of fucked up people out there, Madej.” Nick Pishos, the superintendent of the city’s police force, was a stoic man of few words. But when he spoke, people listened. “Always has been.”

“Yeah. That’s fair.” Shane watched the buttons glow in turn as the elevator went down past ground level, and to the murky underground. “I’ve never been in a hospital’s morgue before.”

“It’s okay.”

The doors swished open, and there was nothing but silence. It was like being underwater; the same dull sounds, the same pressure, the same eerie blue lighting. Shane stepped out into the corridor that stretched left and right, disappearing into the distance. Doors dotted the sides, at irregular intervals. Shane turned towards the sound of voices, seeing the superintendent had already set off towards the open door at the end of the hall. He walked like he was marching into war. Shane hurried after him.

“So it’d have to be done  _here_? In Chicago?”

Shane threw his eyes up to the ceiling at the sound of the voice, thankful Pishos was ahead of him.  _For fuck’s sake_.

“Yeah,” came a confident response. “Yeah, the cyanide would’ve eaten through the capsules within twenty-four hours. So the pills would’ve had to have been poisoned in the city.”

Pishos went straight ahead into the room, not even knocking. Shane lingered in the doorway for a moment, hands in his coat pockets, beginning to wonder why the superintendent had been so adamant he see the bodies. And of course,  _of course_ , Ryan Bergara and his sunshine partner were there. The detective glanced from Pishos to Shane, a frown flickering across his face. A visual  _what are you doing here?_

“Detectives.” Pishos extended a hand, giving each of theirs a shake, owning them for a second. “Nice to see you again. Don’t mean to interrupt.”

“No, it’s fine,” smiled Steven, sitting up off the table. “Just came by to hear about the autopsies.”

“Us too.” Pishos nodded back towards Shane. “This is Shane Madej. Lawyer for Johnson & Johnson. They wanted him to see.”

“We’ve met,” said Shane, stepping into the room, not quite acknowledging the presence of the two detectives. “Now what is it I’m supposed to see? I’m pretty busy this morning.”

He heard the sharp exhale from Ryan, just about bordering on amused. It was too bitter, though. He ignored it.

“This.” The medical examiner, a tall, weedy man, pulled a metal drawer out of the wall with a flourish. It rattled to a halt. “Not buried yet.”

Shane stared at the white sheet covering the body, his face turning the same shade. “Ah. Who was this?”

"A one Adam McFarland. The last one to receive an autopsy. There’s potassium cyanide in his bloodstream too, which means a clean flush." The medical examiner gestured at the body. "They were all poisoned by the same thing.”

“Which means the same person, most likely.” Ryan circled the body, passing between it and Shane, arms folded across his chest. “There’s gonna be copycats, though. There’s always copycats.”

“Agreed.” Pishos moved towards the medical examiner, as familiar as friends. “Well, Donaghue. When’s this one getting buried?”

“Why are you here, hm?” said Ryan quietly, sidling up to Shane. Steven was studying the body with a grimace on his face. “You shouldn’t have to see the body.”

“I think it’s better if I do.” Shane threw him a dry look, but internally, he was wondering if that _was_ the reason Pishos wanted him to come. Was he being too distant about this whole thing? “Helps me be less of a, uh, heartless robot, I suppose.”

Ryan barely smiled, wondering why every sentence from this man seemed to have some backhanded undertone. “I thought you were gonna pass out when you saw it.”

“Well it’s not exactly pleasant,” replied Shane coolly, still avoiding looking at the body in question. Steven had pulled the sheets way back. “Dead bodies aren’t a nice start to my day.”

“Yeah. You get used to it.”

Shane gave him a sidelong smirk. “Who’s the robot now, hm?”

“It’s still unpleasant,” said Ryan flatly. “But you still get used to it. Just like everything else, really.”

“Profound.”

Ryan stayed beside him for a few long seconds, neither openly acknowledging the other. “I know what could be good for you.”

Shane turned his head to frown at him. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ryan nodded towards the body. “Have a closer look.”

Shane gave him a long, hard stare. “I’ll pass. Thanks.”

“I really think it could be a good idea.” Ryan placed a hand just at Shane’s elbow, almost guiding. “To put a face to the deaths.”

Shane swallowed, trying to hide how uncomfortable the thought made him. “I see what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to make me get emotional about all this.”

“Maybe if you stopped viewing all this as a scheme to save money, you’ll start acting more appropriately.” Ryan didn’t remove his hand from his elbow. It wasn’t quite grasping, but it wasn’t easily ignored. _C'mon. Show something_. “Or does that idea bother you?”

Shane turned his head to meet the shorter man’s gaze, Ryan’s big eyes holding a challenging spark. Shane didn’t look away for a long moment. He steeled himself, suddenly stepping forwards, heading right over to the body. Steven moved aside to accommodate him.

Ryan circled the table slowly, taking in Shane’s expressions. There was a complete lack of them. His face could’ve been carved from stone as his eyes lingered on the face of the dead man, brother, son. But a blank face doesn’t mean a blank mind. Ryan heard the taller man inhale deeply as he straightened back up to meet Ryan’s unwavering stare.

“I’ve learned so much today,” said Shane flatly, moving away from the table, trying not to seem too hasty. He had to pass by the detective to get to the door. “Thanks for your help. Means a lot. But I’ve seen what I need to see.”

Pishos and Donaghue threw odd looks as Shane paced out of the room, Ryan giving them a reassuring smile as he swiftly followed.

“Hey.” Ryan picked up the pace as the taller man ignored him, footsteps echoing around the sterile hallways. “Hey, Shane! I’m talking to you!”

“God, don’t I know.” Shane wandered to a reluctant halt, his tall frame neatly outlined in the eerie blue light of the hall. “What? What do you want?”

Ryan waited until he was close enough before speaking, his white shirt almost iridescent in the light. “Why did Pishos bring you here? How do you guys know each other?”

“We don’t. My boss knows him.” Shane smiled stiffly. “That all?”

“Yeah.” Ryan spoke slowly, the reluctance to drop the conversation glaringly obvious. “Yeah, I suppose.”

Shane turned on his heel, continuing on towards the elevators. Then he paused, half-turning to see Ryan still watching him. His shorter, stockier figure was almost glowing thanks to his shirt. Shane closed the space between them impatiently, his voice low, hushed.

“I don’t want to start anything here, Ryan,” he said, leaning in so that the occupants of the room a few doors down wouldn’t hear. “I really don’t. It’ll just complicate things. But if you ever try and pull a stunt like that again I’ll  _end_  you. Got it?”

Ryan tilted his chin up at this, folding his arms across his chest. “Feeling a bit upset, are you?”

Shane narrowed his eyes at this. “Not for the reason you’d hope.”

“You say you don’t want to start anything here, and I get that, I do.” Ryan raised his hands to shoulder height as he spoke, an innocent gesture. “But I think what you mean is that you want me to roll over whenever a disagreement comes up between us. And I’m not gonna do that.”

“I want you to act professionally.”

“You ever worked with the FBI before?”

Shane straightened back up, hands in his pockets. “No.”

“Yeah, I thought as much. Because I _am_ acting professionally.” Ryan turned away, speaking over his shoulder. “You’re not above me, alright?”

Shane knew he shouldn't reply, he should just let it slide. But he also didn't want to. "Only literally."

The detective came to a halt, half-turning to stare at him. Shane stared back, unfazed. And as sudden as a ray of sunshine through storm clouds, Ryan smiled. And for a moment, the corridor didn't need any more light.

"I'll let you away with that one," said Ryan, turning away. "Because it was actually pretty funny."

Shane remained where he was, even after the other man vanished back into the bright room at the end of the murky corridor. Then he continued on.

* * *

"So wait, hold on." Steven repeated the information they'd been told. "Donaghue smells the bottle and it smelled like almonds, and that means its poisoned?"

"Cyanide smells like bitter almonds, apparently." Ryan glanced at the SatNav, squinting at the red line showing the way to the house. "So yeah, that means it's poisoned."

"With cyanide?"

"I'm not sure about this one. The forensics guys haven't arrived yet." Ryan smiled dryly. "You'll be able to ask them yourself when they do, though."

The ambulance was there already, the side of the house flashing in the blue-and-red light spinning on the roof of the vehicle. The black tar of the road was glistening with the rain, which was beginning to pick up again. It wasn't a hard rain, but it was persistent, constantly floating through the air. Ryan ducked under the crime-scene tape, seeing the tape wobble as his partner followed. The latest victim was being escorted out of their home, being zipped up into a warm coat, a scarf. The family were in the front room, being comforted by neighbors and friends. The sobbing was audible even from the front door. 

Ryan stepped through into the hallway, biting his lip anxiously. "Can you do the whole introducing thing?"

Steven pouted. "But-"

"C'mon, you're better at the emotions side of this stuff." Ryan raised a finger. " _And_  I did it last time."

A sigh in response. "Yeah, fine. I'll go into them now. But don't hog all the fun, alright?"

Ryan slipped away into the adjoining dining room; it was pretty fancy, even from what was visible in the dark. The large table was shining alternating red and blue, the small chandelier above doing the same. The framed pictures on the walls joined in. Yeah, these people were rich. But even the rich need medicine, and even the rich can't tell when said medicine has been poisoned. Apparently the son had taken two painkillers to help his headache before going to bed. Now he was dangerously ill. The fear was beginning to spread through the city, and understandably so. Ryan shrugged off his jacket, moving closer to the framed photos. He could see blurred faces, smiling, alive. He swallowed. 

Movement out the window made him turn, moving to get a closer look. But really, there was no point. He already knew who the tall figure was, crossing the street from his silver car, chin tucked behind the high collar of his long coat, his clear umbrella glistening under the streetlights. Ryan frowned; how the hell did this guy already know about the death?

* * *

He was hopping down the stairs from the porch, eyes fixed on Shane. He didn't seem to notice the cold, the rain, even though his jacket was draped over his arm instead of around his shoulders, like a sane person would do. Shane wondered about just ignoring him; it’d probably be safest. But then again, the detective didn’t seem like the type who was easily ignored. Shane caught his eye, giving a half-assed wave. More of a raise of a hand than an actual wave. Had to act cooperative, after all. And to his surprise, the detective took this as an invite to conversation, making his way over towards him. Shane put his umbrella out, making space. 

“You should really invest in one of these, detective,” said Shane as the shorter man drew closer. “Winter is coming, and all that.”

“Hopefully I won’t still be here.” Ryan folded his arms across his chest, looking up at him. His dark hair was damp. “What are you doing, hm?”

Shane raised an eyebrow at his tone. "It'd be great if you'd just be even a tiny bit specific."

"Here. What are you doing here." Ryan nodded back towards the house. "It's a closed scene. The family requested it."

The taller man smiled at this, almost pityingly. "I have a bit of a right to be here, detective. Sorry if that irritates you."

"Mm. It kinda does." Ryan squinted at the phone now turned towards him, the light of the screen illuminating his face, a raindrop still trickling down his cheek. “Wait, what?!”

“It's a warrant. For me to enter.” Shane locked the phone, putting it back into his pocket. “Signed by your employer. Under advice from mine. That good enough for you?”

“No. But I guess it has to be.” Ryan heard the ambulance doors shut, the two of them turning their heads to see the vehicle speed away, sirens blaring. The following moment was relatively silent, despite the pattering of rain and murmuring of voices. “If it’s not Tylenol, it’s not your business.”

"And is it Tylenol?"

Ryan met his gaze again, hands on his hips. "I don't know yet."

"Then it might be my business." Shane nodded towards the lonely house. "Shall we?"

Ryan tutted, following right behind him. “Sometimes I think you know you’re being annoying.”

Shane smiled, quickly hiding it. “Maybe.”

Ryan scowled at the back of his head, closing the door to the house after them, watching as the taller man shook the rain off the umbrella, placed it aside. Shane half-turned to raise his eyebrows at him, slipping his coat off. He placed it on the coat rack like it was his own house he was wandering into. The actual owners of the house had gone quiet in the sitting room, probably having cried themselves to sleep. The low murmurs of the other occupants were still there, Steven's among them. Ryan took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then he headed back into the dining room, hearing the taller man follow, shoes loud against the wood floor.

"Why are you following me?" asked Ryan, pausing, turning to glare up at his tall dark frame. "You have a warrant to enter. Not a warrant to be a pain in the ass."

A shrug. "Same thing to you, isn't it?"

"I thought we were meant to be cooperating."

"So did I."

Ryan kept his eyes fixed on the shine of the taller man's, not moving. "Why did you get a warrant?"

"It was given to me, really." Shane stepped around him, moving over to the same set of photos Ryan had been studying only ten minutes beforehand. "Along with a few hints about what to do once I got here."

"Oh yeah? And what do you have to do?"

Shane turned to face the voice, seeing as the owner was only vaguely visible in the dark. His white shirt was almost ghostly. "See if this is gonna impact on the company I work for or not."

"In other words, find out if it's Tylenol."

"Or anything else owned by Johnson & Johnson."

"And what if it is?" Ryan's voice was challenging, making Shane's teeth clench. "What difference are you gonna make to what happens after?"

A silence. "Well, you just cleared up another hint for me." 

Ryan frowned at this, wishing he could see the other man's face properly, so he could see if he was messing or not. "What the fuck is your job, huh? I didn't know being a lawyer involved similar rules to  _Jumanji_."

"Oh yeah, they even give the hints to us in riddles."

Right, he was definitely messing. Now, anyway. "Well what did I help clear up for you?"

"The most important reason as to why I'm here." Shane moved a bit closer, two slow, confident steps. "We're, uh, we're cooperating now. Yeah?"

A silence was his only response.

"Look, we had a bit of a bumpy beginning," said Shane, bordering on patronizing. "But I'm sure I'll be able to make you see sense."

Ryan turned away, continuing on into the kitchen. He found the light switch, the hanging bulbs flicking on, a soft yellow. The room was just as fancy as the dining room. On the opposite side of the cavernous space was the bathroom, the yellow tape stretched across the doorway. The sink, and the cabinet above, were visible. The cabinet that held a bottle that should've been labeled 'death'.

"Yeah. I can see sense by myself, thanks."

"Look, I-"

"You have a warrant to be here, okay?" interrupted Ryan, half-turning to glare at him, hands on his hips. "You're here. Great. Now leave me alone please."

Shane stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, returning the glare. "You're a bit of an ass, aren't you? Don't like lawyers or something?"

"Something like that."

Shane arched an eyebrow. "That's extremely unprofessional."

“If you have a complaint,” replied Ryan slowly, forcibly calm. “You can file a report.”

“If I have to file  _anything_ ,” said Shane, the tone of his voice making Ryan come to a halt. “I can make this whole mess look like a picnic in the park. And you know I can.” He smiled at Ryan’s scowl, hands on his hips. “Look, I’m not against spilling blood here, little guy. But this is one slugfest you do  _not_ want to start.”

Ryan didn’t take his eyes from Shane’s as the taller man drew closer. He kept silent, lips pressed together in a firm white line. 

“That’s one thing you have to remember when you’re involved with the big guys, detective," said Shane quietly, an eyebrow arched. " _Never_  threaten a man’s profit margin.”

“Profit margin.” Ryan sneered the word, eyes narrowed. “That’s all you lawyers care about. Money.”

“It’s all anyone cares about, Ryan. And I get a hell of a lot of it for helping other people not lose theirs.” Shane stood with his hands on his hips, an unimpressed eyebrow raised. “So we can either engage in some symbiotic-type relationship here, or I can be your personal nightmare. Up to you.”

“So dramatic.” Ryan gave a bitter laugh. "Well, they do say being a lawyer is fifty-percent intelligence, fifty-percent showmanship."

“And they're right,” shrugged Shane.

Ryan let his gaze trail over the room, listening to the surrounding mess; the weeping family, the rain whipping against the windows. The photographers, the journalists were poised outside, predatory. “I don’t know how you could be of use to me. To be honest.”

Shane laughed sharply at this, not exactly a warm sound. “Right. You want me to demonstrate my value, is that it?”

Ryan looked back up at him, not quite smiling. “I want you to stay out of this. That’s what I want you to do.”

“Mm.” Shane followed him across the kitchen to the bathroom, the scene of the crime, just across the way. “I’m only gonna make you this offer once, Ryan. I’d advise you take it.”

“You’re  _desperate_  for me to take this offer,” replied Ryan, glancing back over his shoulder as he pulled on a pair of plastic gloves. “Why is that?”

Shane didn’t reply. He remained in the doorway as Ryan moved into the bathroom. He watched the shorter man open up the press above the sink, squint at the bottles. Tylenol was one. Ryan took it down, popping it open, giving it an experimental sniff. Shane raised an expectant eyebrow, hoping to disguise his internal panic.  _Please don’t be it. Please._

“Smells normal,” said Ryan, closing the lid again. “No almond.”

"Almond?"

Ryan gave him a sidelong look, ignoring the question. Shane inhaled deeply after the long silence, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the door frame. He had so many acidic comments ready it was almost painful to hold them back. But he knew he had to. For now. Ryan was actively avoiding his gaze as he continued rifling through the bottles, his jaw clenched, like he too was holding back a torrent of words. Maybe he was. 

“You ever heard of the phrase ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’?”

Ryan paused, half-turning to look at him. He had one hand on his hip, the other still resting on the sink beside him. “And you’re the enemy of my enemy, are you?”

“Whoever’s poisoning these bottles is a common enemy. I think that goes without saying.” A wry smile. “But I said it anyway.”

“You always seem to.” Ryan had a bottle of Paracetamol in his hand, his thumb distractedly pushing the lid open and closed as he thought. “Alright. Alright, let’s say we become allies. How would you be able to help me?”

Shane shrugged. “What would you need?”

Ryan mimicked the shrug. “What do you think I’d need?”

They were testing each other. This much was obvious. It was like a job interview, except two-way. Shane spared a glance over his shoulder, just to check no one was prying. They might only have seconds, really, before the bathroom was flooded with the forensics squad.

“I heard from your boss that there’s currently twelve hundred leads. That right?”

Ryan nodded slightly, warily. “Yeah.”

“Let’s say I make up a list of employees who maybe left the company on bad terms,” continued Shane, watching the other man’s face for any sign of interest. There were multiple signs. He didn't seem to quite have control over his expressions. “Would that reduce that number?”

Ryan nodded again, more sure this time. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d reduce it.”

Shane shrugged. “Then I can be of use. But-” He raised a finger. “-I’ll need something in return.”

“I haven’t said yes yet.”

“Me neither.” Shane gestured at the open cabinet. “Let’s say a bottle is found, and said bottle is from a company that is perhaps owned by Johnson & Johnson. Who would usually be the first to know this information?”

Ryan was quiet. “Whoever the forensics team contacts first.”

“And whodo they usually contact first?”  _C'mon, Bergara_.

Ryan bit on his lip, eyes narrowed slightly. “Me. During this case, anyway.”

“You.” Shane spread his arms, straightening up off the door frame. “That’s a great start.”

“Just get to the point, Shane.”

“The second you find out,” continued the taller man, stepping into the small bathroom. “I want to know. Even if it’s not Johnson & Johnson.”

“I can’t do that,” said Ryan quietly, arms folded across his chest as he leaned back against the sink. “It’s against protocol.”

“So is what I suggested doing for you.” Shane arched an eyebrow, looking him up and down. “How long have you been a detective?”

“Long enough.”

“But not long enough to know that this - corruption - is literally everywhere, apparently.” Shane smiled back at the dark look fixed on him. “Look, you’ll be getting off lightly here, Ryan. Just a quick phone call to me whenever something relevant comes up, and I’ll return the favor.”

Ryan turned his head away, aware of the taller man watching his expression closely. The offer was tempting. Painfully so. But there was still that voice in his head saying that he could solve this without help, without having to delve into the darker activities of police work. Shane was still watching him. Waiting. Ryan finally looked back at him, his teeth gritting under the intensity of the taller man’s gaze. The sound of chatter was slowly growing louder; people were coming in.

“Let me sleep on it,” said Ryan, straightening up, his folded arms basically the only barrier between them. “And I’ll get back to you in the morning.”

Shane seemed satisfied with this, for now. He didn’t take his eyes from Ryan’s, even as he heard people entering the kitchen behind him, loud and excited. “Mm. Don’t forget.”

Shane left the room as the professionals entered, throwing a look over his shoulder, letting it linger on Ryan. The detective seemed distracted now, talking with his coworkers, gesturing at the various bottles. But his gaze flickered to meet Shane's, just for half a second. Shane wasn't quite sure what flashed through him. Validation? Reassurance? Some sign that he wasn't crossing any boundaries? Because really, Shane wasn't aware of where the boundary lay in this particular job. They varied from case to case, sometimes obvious, sometimes not. But this one had him truly blind. He decided to wait outside.

* * *

Ryan slipped out the front door, Steven following right behind him. It had been a bottle of Ibuprofen that had been tampered with this time; rat poison, to be specific. Copycats, just as Ryan had predicted. Thankfully, the victim was in stable condition at the hospital. Rat poison was bad, but at least it wasn't cyanide. 

And speaking of poisons, the lawyer was still hanging around, chatting to a few of the local cops. He split off at the sight of Ryan, leaving the cops clearly confused as to the abrupt end of the conversation. He strode right towards Ryan, not even trying to act casual about it, his coat billowing slightly with the movement. Before Ryan could even say anything, the guy spoke.

"Well? What was it?"

Ryan didn't answer for a moment, letting the panic grow just a tiny bit more obvious on the taller man's face. And to extend his time under the umbrella. "Ibuprofen. You're fine."

Shane closed his eyes at this, a quiet sigh escaping through his nose. "Good. That's good."

"Don't do that again, though," said Ryan, frowning at him. "Whatever potential deal we have is out the window if you're gonna come running up to me, demanding answers at the crime scenes."

"Right." For a moment, it seemed like the taller man was going to bite back. But he didn't. "Right, yeah. I won't do that, then."

Steven shook his car keys, indicating he was going to go on ahead. But Ryan stayed behind, just like the taller man did. The umbrella did what umbrellas do when shared between two people; made an otherwise open space seem small, private, personal. Ryan turned his head aside, sighing heavily.

"Had any time to think about your answer?" asked Shane after a long moment of watching Ryan watching him. 

"No, actually." Ryan looked back up at him. "I want to talk more about it. What time do you start work tomorrow?"

Shane nodded slowly at this, glancing away. "Just come by at around ten. That's the earliest I can do."

"It's half eight or nothing," said Ryan with a passive shrug, hands in his jacket pockets. "I have a job too, you know."

"Yeah, and meeting with me counts as work," replied Shane almost irritably.

"Uh, no. Meeting with a lawyer to discuss a shady as fuck deal doesn't count as legitimate work." Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Is half eight bad for you, hm? How about half seven?"

Shane inhaled deeply at this, looking down his nose at the shorter man. "You want me to run around after you, is that it?"

"When I have the opportunity, yeah," grinned Ryan, seeing just a hint of a smile flicker across the taller man's face. "C'mon. Let me have a little victory here."

Shane didn't answer for a long moment. Then he pushed the handle of the umbrella towards the shorter man, who blinked up at him, an eyebrow raised. “I can go now. You can’t. So take this as a token of my gratitude.”

Ryan hesitantly did so, the handle still warm from the taller man’s grip. “Gratitude for what?”

“For not being as big of a pain in the ass as you could be.” Shane sauntered backwards, hands in his coat pockets. “And the prizes will only keep getting better, Bergara.”

Ryan watched him turn away, watched him stroll off towards his car. He walked with a casual confidence that tall men rarely carried; he didn’t stoop, self-conscious of his towering height. He owned it. Just like he owned everything he seemed to come in contact with. Ryan pursed his lips, eyes narrowed. He wasn't sure what was stirring in the pit of his stomach; irritation, or interest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://8tracks.com/idkwhattocallmyself/poison-pill-murders#
> 
> also here's a playlist of the inspo songs for this, with the most important being:  
> Future Starts Slow by The Kills  
> Snake Eyes by Mumford & Sons  
> Cold Little Heart by Mike Kiwanuka


	3. Mountain At My Gates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I see a mountain at my gates_   
>  _I see it more and more each day_   
>  _What I give, it takes away_   
>  _Whether I go or when I stay_

It was one of those mornings that could've easily been mistaken as an evening, if you didn't know the time. It had just turned half eight. Shane was entering the lobby of the building - or his second home - when he felt the buzzing in his pocket. He stared at the number glowing on the screen. He hadn't saved it under a name, he hadn't wanted to. But he knew it was Ryan Bergara. The phone felt like it was buzzing obnoxiously in his hand. Shane hesitated, still watching the number, secretly hoping it would just stop ringing. Because he had a feeling that this guy was going to be a bit of a pain in the neck, and an unavoidable one at that. 

"Are you at work yet?"

Shane rolled his eyes, turning on his heel, the lobby spinning around him as he did so. "Yeah, hello to you too, detective."

A sharp laugh. "Yeah, as if you care whether or not I greet you in the appropriate fashion."

"True. The less words out of your mouth, the better."

There wasn't a laugh this time. Not one he could hear, anyway. "I'm not gonna be able to make it over. But I still want to talk about your offer in person."

Shane sighed wearily, not attempting to hide his fatigue. "Can you not just give me a yes or no answer?"

"What, you think I'm stupid or something?"

"You _really_ want me to answer that?" 

"Look, just- I'll call around later. But something came up."

Shane scowled at this. "What? What came up?"

"See you later!"

"No, no, don't you- God damnit." He shoved the now silent phone back into his pocket, throwing his eyes towards the ceiling. "Jesus."

"Sounds like a great start to your day, man!" The receptionist poked her head around the computer on the main desk, her eyebrows raised. "This mysterious caller have an appointment for later?"

"Nah, but you better let him in anyway," said Shane, stopping by her desk. He placed a hand about halfway down his chest. "He's about this height, face like a cartoon chipmunk."

"Bad attitude?" she asked.

"Uh, no, not really." He shrugged, giving his light beard a distracted scratch as he glanced back at the doors. "But he's not shy, I'll just say that."

"Alrighty, I'll keep an eye out then." She tapped the desk before he could turn away, almost urgently. "Hey, heard Miriam's looking for you up above."

Shane pulled a face. "Woah-oh. Angry?"

"Don't know." She sat back in her chair, rolling it back towards the computer. "Just a warning, though."

"Right. Thanks, Kelsey."

The elevator ride seemed twice as long as it usually did. He took a deep breath as it slowed, stepping out through the doors. The first time he'd walked onto the fiftieth floor of the law firm's tower, he'd been very much impressed; it just dripped with style and class. But now he knew that the activities that took place in every single room were anything but. He decided against running to his own office to take off his coat and dump his bag; he wanted to get this impromptu meeting with Miriam Fahner out of the way, ASAP. So he went straight down to her office, the only room with actual walls instead of glass.

"Come in."

He stepped through, closing the door behind him. It was one of those doors that blended seamlessly into the wall, all dark wood. Miriam sat at her matching desk, glasses perched on the end of her nose as she poured over the document in her hands. The only window in the room was right behind her, floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall, a picture-perfect image of the Chicago skyline behind her. She raised her steely eyes to look at him, a stiff smile spreading across her face as she saw who it was. All her smiles seemed stiff. Everything about her was bordering on robotic. Shane wondered what Ryan had thought about her. 

"Madej, please, sit." She placed the document aside as he did so. "Take off your coat, if you'd like."

He did so, letting it fall onto the back of the chair he was now seated on. "I heard you wanted to see me."

"Yes, indeed." She quirked a graying eyebrow. "Kelsey told you, did she?"

He smiled at this. "Goes without saying, right?"

"Right." She was quiet for a moment, taking her glasses from her face and letting them hang around her neck on the thin gold chain. "How is the Tylenol disaster coming along?"

Shane nodded slowly, pensively. "Uh, it hasn't really taken off yet, I guess. The public aren't hounding us yet, anyway."

"Only a matter of time."

"Mm. Yeah."

She leaned back in her high-backed chair, arms on the armrests, legs crossed. Miranda Priestly, eat your heart out. Shane wasn't too sure what to say, where to start. Conversations with Miriam were always like this, however; making you feel like you're meant to be talking, but when you were talking it was as if every word was a waste of breath in her eyes. 

"I'm going to help you here, Madej," she said, after thinking he looked appropriately unsettled. "I know I'm not supposed to. But I was talking to a spokesperson for Johnson & Johnson, and I think they want me to direct you somewhat."

Shane raised his eyebrows at this. "Direct me? I thought I was just supposed to try and smooth this all over."

"Pishos came to me," she said, as if Shane hadn't even spoken. "Said you and the two FBI detectives seem a bit... at odds."

Shane lowered his gaze at this, pressing his lips together as he wondered how to phrase this right. "One of them is just a bit... difficult, I guess. Or determined. Maybe both."

"Bergara's only been here for a few months," said Miriam, showing that she already knew exactly who and what everyone was. "Came in from California. Heard good things about him."

Shane stayed quiet. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say.

"He tends to deal with drugs a lot," she continued, getting to her feet. Shane found himself wondering how many pantsuits this woman owned. "Drug rings, drug deals, drug lords. He knows his way around the whole system."

"Oh. That's probably why he's on this one, then."

"Exactly." Miriam wandered around the desk, tall and confident. She was a woman of about fifty, but if she had any aches or pains, she never showed them. "Did you know that drug lords frequently use pill bottles to transport drugs? It's very common."

Shane looked up at this, watching her come closer. "No, I didn't know that. But it's very... useful information."

There it was. A glimmer of approval in her icy eyes. "Yes, I think so too. Twelve hundred leads, I've heard. That's going to take a long time to sort out, and the longer this goes on, the more pressure will be put on you to keep Johnson & Johnson looking good. The sooner someone is found guilty, the better."

Shane got to his feet, picking up his coat, his bag. "Maybe the FBI just needs a little push, hm?"

"A little one, or a big one. It's up to you." A hint of a smile. "You're reliable, Madej. You'll go far."

He paused for a moment after closing the door behind him, taking a deep breath. Well, that had been a nice turn of events. He'd been expecting a scolding, a reprimanding. He moved back down the bustling hall to his own office, smiling to himself. _Well, Ryan. Looks like we're going to have to be best buds after all_.

* * *

 

Surprise surprise, he didn't hear anything from Ryan all day. The morning passed, lunch passed, the evening was quickly slipping away. And really, Shane would be damned before he'd even consider ringing Ryan. He didn't want to show that he was annoyed. He rather act indifferent. In these scenarios, the goal was always to piss the other person off first, and Shane never lost. Never.

So when his phone rang, at about half eight, he let it ring a few times before answering. He didn't answer until the elevator had gone all the way down to the lobby, actually. Then he answered. 

"Are you still at work?" asked Ryan instantly.

Shane glared at his reflection in the glass wall, that looked out onto the tantalizing freedom of the street. It was stormy out, the wind whipping the rain around, but it was still freedom. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm just finishing, though."

"Wait."

Shane took the phone from his hear, glaring at it. The bastard had hung up on him. He didn't do hellos or goodbyes, it seemed. Shane tapped his phone against his mouth as he turned towards the small coffee shop located just inside the door. It looked like they were still open; then again, it was a law firm. Coffee was what fueled them, and they needed it at all hours. 

About half an hour later, and in swanned the big-shot detective himself. He looked a bit tired, a bit worn out. Shane didn't care. He stayed where he was, hand around a cup of coffee, legs crossed in a figure four. Ryan spotted him almost immediately, because really, who else was hanging out in a law firm's lobby at nine at night? It was just him, and Shane, and the receptionist, and the half-asleep barista. Ryan took the seat across from him, loosening his tie, draping his jacket on the third, unused chair beside them. Shane raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of coffee.

"I've been waiting here like a dog for the past thirty minutes, detective," said Shane coolly. "Next time I won't be so patient."

"Yeah, hello to you too," said Ryan wryly.

"I thought we'd skip the formalities," said Shane with a stiff smile. "You seem to be a fan of that."

Ryan folded his arms on the table between them, leaning forwards. "Whatever. Look, I've been thinking-"

" _What?!"_

"Ha ha. Funny." Ryan rolled his eyes, seeing the sly smile appear on the other man's face. "I think your offer could be useful. I do. For both of us. But I need to know something first."

Shane lounged back in his chair, arms spread. "Hit me."

 _If only_. "Why would you need to know the brand of the bottles before anyone else?"

Shane frowned at this. "In case it's owned by the company I work for. Next."

"But _why_ do you need to know?" persisted Ryan, not being swept along in the current of the conversation quite so easily. "What can you do about it?"

Shane tilted his head slightly at this, hair bouncing with the movement. He had nice hair, thick and tousled. It gave him an almost boyish edge. "I don't know. I, personally, wouldn't be doing anything about it. The higher-ups would."

"You see, I don't like that," said Ryan accusingly, as if it was Shane's fault everything was unfolding the way it was. "That's why I'm gonna say no."

"Wait, excuse me?" Shane put his cup back down, the sound of the ceramic hitting the table echoing in the lobby. "You're saying no?"

"Tie up some loose ends for me, and I'll say yes quicker than you could save a murderer from prison."

The guy seemed pretty happy with this quip, Shane raising an eyebrow in response. "What loose ends. Give me a list."

"What Johnson & Johnson are going to do with the information I give." He shrugged, sitting back in his chair, arms still folded. "That's all."

"That's all." Shane got to his feet, the other man doing the same. "Well then keep your phone on you, detective. And off silent."

"Off silent?"

"In case you're sleeping."

"Oh, hell no." Ryan shook his head firmly, following him around the low barrier of the cafe and into the cavernous lobby. "No ringing me in the middle of the night, alright?"

Shane watched him for a moment. “You have the defiance of someone a lot bigger than you.”

Ryan raised an amused eyebrow. “Referencing yourself now, are you?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m  _defiant_ , detective.” Shane didn’t look at him as he talked, striding across the cool marble of the lobby, hands in his pockets. It was as if he owned the place. “I’m just usually right. About everything.”

“So you’re cocky.”

“And you’re egotistical.” Shane threw a dry smile back over his shoulder, getting one thrown right back at him. “I think we’re beginning to see the root cause of our issues here.”

They paused in front of the revolving glass doors, the rain slick across the marble, still managing to slip in through the rotating panels. It spilled down the glass, making the outside world distorted.

“What’s with all the revolving doors around here?” Ryan watched the people come and go, giving his stubble a distracted scratch. “Chicago have a law against normal ones or something?”

“Sometimes you say something so glaringly Californian it’s painful.”

“Hm?”

“We have this thing here called winter. _Real_ winter.” Shane shrugged. “Normal doors let the cold and the snow in. Revolving doors don’t.”

“Aaaah.” Ryan sounded genuinely impressed, eyebrows raised. “Smart.”

“Yup.” Shane turned away, pausing to face the shorter man. “Now, I have to stay and make a few calls, thanks a lot. But the rain isn’t due to stop anytime soon, so I’d suggest you just keep going.”

“What a polite way to tell me to fuck off,” replied Ryan wryly, throwing him a withering look as he moved on towards the doors.

“I’m a lawyer, detective. I can say ‘fuck off’ five hundred different ways in the same language.” Shane paused in turning away, hands still in his coat pockets. "Hey, Ryan."

The detective stopped, half-turning to raise an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Meet me on the Nichols Bridgeway in half an hour. I work quickly." _Or I plot quickly, if I put it more accurately._

Ryan hesitated, a frown flickering across his face. "I- Fine. Fine, I guess."

"Great." Shane strolled on, back towards the elevator, back past Kelsey's desk. He heard the revolving doors swish as Ryan left. 

"Hey." Kelsey sat upright as he passed by, a secretive whisper to her words. "Who was that?"

Shane threw a puzzled look at her. "He's- Wait, why?"

"Uh, because he's hot as fuck," she replied, like he was a five-year-old being taught basic math. "You're not blind, are you?"

Shane paused. "No. No, I'm not. And he's a detective. FBI."

" _Ooooh_ , damn." She whistled through her teeth, gazing at the door the guy had left through. "He can arrest me anytime."

"God, you're the worst."

* * *

Shane was there already, arms folded on the barrier, a cigarette glowing in his hand. He was pretty hard to miss anyway. The road passed right below them, but it was late enough for it to be relatively quiet. Ryan rested an arm on the railing of the otherwise-empty bridge, facing the taller man, who finally turned his head to look at him. 

“Strange choice of location,” said Ryan, peering over the edge of the bridge. “But if you’re done brooding, we should probably talk about what Johnson & Johnson want."

Shane kept his eyes on the road below, absent-mindedly biting on his lip. He seemed to be ignoring him. Then he took a slip of paper from his pocket, holding it precariously over the drop. It was folded in half, fluttering in the light breeze.

“This is a list of people employed by Johnson & Johnson who thought their dismissals were a bit unfair. And I even went as far as to cut it down to those who live in Chicago.” Shane glanced at the detective, who was now watching the piece of paper with a slightly anxious look on his face. Shane held it between two long fingers, similarly to the cigarette in his other hand. “Do you want it?”

Ryan reluctantly moved his gaze from the paper to Shane. “Am I going to get it?”

“That’s not an answer.”

Ryan gritted his teeth, feeling panicked at the mere thought of Shane letting the invaluable piece of paper sail away to the road below. “Yes. Yes, I want it.”

“I thought as much.” Shane turned to face him more directly, elbow resting on the railing, paper still held out over the drop. “And I’ll give it to you. I will.” A pause. “When you decide to help me.”

Ryan narrowed his eyes at him. “This is bribery.”

“Oh, no it’s not. You  _can_ say no.” A small smile. “If you want to.” 

 _Bastard_. “I’m- I can’t help you. It’s too risky. If I get found out, I’ll-”

“If you don’t get found out, you’ll cut the time spent finding this psychopath a considerable amount.” Shane waved the page, a glimpse of names visible as he did so. “C’mon. It’ll be worth it.”

Ryan swallowed, still watching the paper. Did it look like it was slipping out of Shane’s grip? He wasn’t sure. “I- I- Come on, dude. This is fucked up.”

“Hm? Why?”

“You’re just fucking with me,” said Ryan with a glare, wanting to lash out and grab the page before it floated away. “This isn’t funny.”

“Well I’m not trying to be funny.” He took a pull on his cigarette, letting the smoke flow out with the following words. “I’m deadly serious.”

Ryan took a deep breath, smelling the smoke, the fumes, the smell of grass having just been rained on. “How many times have you done this before, hm?”

“None, actually.” A half-smile. “I guess I’m just a natural.”

“Yeah, a natural slimeball.” Ryan turned away, hands gripping the railing tightly, as he leaned forwards against it. The headlights of the cars whooshed back and forth below. “I can get the names off anyone else in Johnson & Johnson, you know. So I guess I’ll say no.”

“I don’t think you’ll find that as easy as you might think,” said Shane coolly, an eyebrow raised. “Or you must think I’m an idiot.”

“I’d rather spend a whole year trying to get those names from anyone else but you.” Ryan threw a sidelong glare up at him. “So you can stop torturing me now. Asshole.”

“You think this is me torturing you?” Shane snorted, rolling his eyes. “God, you innocent little idiot.”

“Fuck you.” Ryan went to brush past him, each step heavy, like the piece of paper was a magnet to him.

Shane’s hand suddenly whipped around, grabbing his arm, the cigarette sparking as it dropped to the floor. Ryan stared up at him in outraged disbelief, feeling the grip tight on his arm, holding him in place. But before he could even begin to express his anger, Shane held the paper in front of him. The shorter man hesitated before taking it, wondering if it was just another game. But to his surprise, Shane didn’t whip it away, or crumple it up. He let him take it.

“Your passion is admirable, Ryan. Refreshing. It really is.” Shane finally let go of him, albeit reluctantly. “But it’s also just unrealistic. This is the real world. Not some episode of CSI.”

“I’m well aware of that. Shane.” Ryan stepped on the cigarette between them, stubbing it out against the damp ground. “And I’m still not going to help you.”

“Ah. So my attempt at appealing to your better nature failed, hm?”

“At least I have a better nature.”

Ryan continued on at a fearsome pace, checking the page wasn’t blank before shoving it into his jacket pocket. He glanced behind him, seeing Shane’s tall frame still lingering where they’d talked, facing him. Then the taller man turned away, the lighter illuminating his face as he lit up a new cigarette to replace the old.


	4. Love & Hate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/AZzA2Ne0HSo
> 
> this is the song that basically inspired this fic (i literally listen to it before i write each chapter because it's the Mood - from the setting, to the characters, to Shane & Ryan's relationship in this, so hyeaaaaaaaaaaa)

Ryan was well aware that leaving Shane hanging all day had probably pissed him off. It would've pissed Ryan himself off. But he _had_ intended to meet Shane that morning, at half eight, as they'd agreed. He'd been heading down the block towards the law firm when his phone had rang, and it had been Steven, saying there'd been updates on the case. So Ryan had blown Shane off, and really, he didn't feel that bad about it. The guy was a bit of an ass, really. Snarky, and smart, and irritatingly quick-witted. The last lawyer Ryan had had to cooperate with had been an old man who was positively dragging himself around. This one was different. 

Even as he drove home now, he found himself thinking about Shane again. The rain was trickling lightly down the windows of his car, the regular _thump thump thump_ of the windscreen wipers in time with his heart. But he barely noticed. He was too busy wondering if Shane was on his way to becoming a valuable ally or a formidable enemy. One second he was offering help, the next he was toying with him, one minute he liked him, the next he despised him. Ryan threw a sidelong glance at the umbrella lying on the passenger seat beside him. Shane's umbrella. _And the prizes will only keep getting better, Bergara_. Ryan glared at the traffic ahead; he'd rather retire than become some corrupt son of a bitch who valued cash over compassion. He'd managed so far, and it wasn't going to change anytime soon. 

He turned on the radio, seeing as the traffic hadn't moved in what felt like an eternity. But he didn't mind. It was like being on a plane, a peaceful sense of not being able to do anything but sit and be patient. Then he looked back at the umbrella, reaching under it to take out the file of today's updates. And they were juicy. Confusing, but juicy. Like biting into a fruit you thought was going to be sweet, but turned out to be sour. 

The Tylenol bottles had all come from different production plants, and had all been purchased at different stores. No fingerprints on any bottles, and CCTV hadn't been handed over yet. One or two of the stores didn't even _have_ CCTV. Ryan flipped through to the back of the file, where sat a folded piece of paper given to him only ten minutes ago by a certain lawyer. He placed the file aside, unfolding the single page. The paper was thin in his fingers. Ten names were scrawled, two underlined. A Reileen Adams, and a TJ Marchbank. Ryan wondered what that meant. He'd probably find out soon, really. He already knew he wasn't going to sleep tonight. Not if there was an opening like this waiting to be explored.

Steven was already asleep when he walked in, his snores audible from the front door of the humble apartment. So Ryan went straight into his own room, put in headphones, and got to work. 

* * *

Shane blinked slowly, groggily, rolling over on his bed to glare at the buzzing phone on his bedside locker. He took one look at who it was and chucked it back, rolling away again, face buried in the pillow. The phone had just about gone silent when it started ringing again, vibrating loudly against the table, rattling the pens scattered on the surface. Shane flipped back over, grabbing the phone and angrily hitting the answer button.

"What?" he demanded, keeping his voice low in case his roommate heard. "What the fuck do you want? It's half three in the fucking morning, you dick. The fuck."

Ryan went on as if he hadn't even heard him. "Why did you underline two of the names? What do you know about them?"

Shane sighed heavily, harshly, making his irritation extremely clear. "Are you fucking serious? You had to ring me _now_?"

"I can't sleep! I'm too- Just tell me!"

Shane sat more upright, rubbing a tired hand down his face. "Jesus Christ, man. You're a literal nightmare."

"Is it because of their backgrounds?" persisted Ryan, not sounding sleepy at all. He sounded like he'd been injecting coffee straight into his heart. "Because they're both involved in drugs, dude. Both. Well, one more than the other. Did you know that? How did you know?"

"Because he got found out, you idiot!" said Shane impatiently. "He left his job, but he was technically fired. It was a jump or be pushed scenario. I really think you could've waited until tomorrow for this shit."

"Stop cursing at me, asshole." 

"You ring me in the middle of the goddamn night and then try to act as if _I'm_ in the wrong?" Shane laughed sharply, not exactly an amused sound. "I'm hanging up now. And if you ring me again at this time I'll- I'll-"

"You'll- You'll what, Shane?" 

Shane sat in stunned silence. "You have a bad attitude, Ryan. I don't like it."

"And your attitude is pure gold. How could I forget."

"Fuck off."

"Oh, did I disturb your beauty sleep or some shit?"

"You know what you need to do?" began Shane, sitting upright. "You need to take a damn Xanax and go to sleep. And I hope the Xanax is laced with so much cyanide you dissolve on the spot."

He hung up, flopping back down onto his bed with a frustrated sigh. He was too worked up to go back to sleep now. Great. He pulled on a jumper, heading out into the loft and straight to the balcony. This would help him sleep. A slow smoke overlooking the bustling city. 

The balcony was his favorite spot in the loft, always had been. Sara didn't care for it that much, but he was out there any chance he got. So he sat at the small table, kicked his feet up on the chair opposite, and lit up a cigarette. For once, it was dry, but the clouds were slowly creeping in across the city, an ominous fog. They were the same color as the smoke curling from his cigarette. 

He wasn't too sure what Miriam wanted him to do, really. Pin the blame on some drug lord? Get the case over with in a rush? But why would she care? She wasn't an employee of Johnson & Johnson, she just ran the law firm. He frowned, sinking lower in his chair, arms folded across his chest, one hand still holding the gradually-fizzling cigarette. She wanted him to do something borderline illegal, that was clear. But for once, Miriam wasn't the most confusing individual in the scenario. 

Ryan was difficult. Not in the usual way cops were, either; not stupid, or lazy, or headstrong. He was difficult because he wasn't doing what Shane wanted him to do. He was honorable, but not in the typical way some rookie cops were. He was honorable because that was his way, and it was his way or the hard way. Shane sighed wearily, getting to his feet, crossing to the black iron railing. It was a hell of a drop; twenty-five floors to the ground. But he wasn't scared of it. No, he knew by now that the only things to be scared of were the normal people passing by on the bright street below.

He stayed there for a while. Thinking. About what has happened so far, about what might happen, about how to control what could happen. About what was supposed to happen. And in each context, Ryan was there, causing a fuss and ruining his plans. Shane scowled at the skyline, a grumpily pensive look. Ryan was going to be trouble, for someone out there. He just wasn't sure for who. Shane stood for a while, leaning on the railing, thinking about the future. And the skyscrapers looked on like great, unblinking giants.

* * *

The streets were shining with the rain, cars darting back and forth like the colored umbrellas that wove through them. Ryan paced down the street, hood up against the light drizzle, hands deep in his coat pockets. He missed LA. He missed the sun. Here, it was raining constantly, and the chill was beginning to settle in too. He used a hand to wipe some of the rain off his face as he pushed through the revolving doors into the law firm. He had thought about using Shane's umbrella, but decided against it. He didn't want to give the wrong impression upon arrival. Or maybe, he should've used it, and then given it back. Showed he didn't need anything from Shane. No, he was overthinking it again.

Technically, he was meant to be off today. But Shane's knowledge of the backgrounds of the two ex-employees of Johnson & Johnson had him curious as to how much more he might know. The receptionist glanced up as he came towards the desk, using a hand to sweep her short blonde hair back off her face, her red-lipsticked mouth smiling.

"Good _morning_ , detective," she grinned. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Uh, yeah." He returned the smile, pulling his hood back. "Do I ask here if people are in, or do I have to go to their floor?"

"Oh, you can ask here." She began typing, squinting at the screen. "Shane, is it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, Shane." Ryan unbuttoned his damp black coat, letting his eyes wander around the lobby. It was just as impressive as the first time he'd walked in.

"Hey, Shane? It's Kelsey." She continued smiling at Ryan as she talked into the phone, and he was beginning to wonder if there was a suggestive edge to it or not. "Yeah, Ryan's here for you. The cute detective. Well, he _is_ \- Yeah. Cool, that's fine." 

Ryan decided to ignore his description. "He in?"

"Yep, he's coming down now." She turned away from the computer to face him more directly, her chin resting on her hand. "You from around here?"

He looked at her, eyebrows raised. "Uh, nope. No, I'm from LA."

"Florida." She rolled her eyes. "Weather here is fucking lame, right?"

"Right. Does it ever change?"

"You'll have to wait for a few months, bro. Winter shall be upon us soon." She pursed her lips. "But, y'know, it goes quick enough. If you have something to do."

Ryan barely had time to frown at her in confusion before the loud sound of confident footsteps rang out. He turned to see Shane heading right towards them, midway through rolling up his shirt sleeves. He barely looked at Ryan.

"You can stop hitting on law enforcement now, Kelsey," he said dryly, pausing in front of the desk. "Or at least save it for when you're not working."

She pushed her chair back towards the computer, slowly, with a roll of her eyes. "Right, whatever."

Shane turned to face Ryan directly, just finishing up with his second sleeve. "And me and you? We need to talk."

Ryan scowled at the back of the taller man's head as Shane strolled back towards the elevator. "Yeah, that's why I'm here."

Shane didn't reply until they were safely in the elevator, facing him just as the doors shut. "How dare you ring me at three in the fucking morning. How _dare_ you. You might not be working today, but I have a hell of a long day ahead of me, so maybe throw a bit of your overwhelming compassion my way, yeah?"

Ryan blinked at this, staring up at him. "Hold on. _Hold_ on, you mentally fuck with me yesterday evening and then get mad when I treat you the way you're treating me?"

"Oh stop being so dramatic, Ryan." He gestured around with one hand, the other resting on his hip. "And even now, you're swanning into my place of work to- to what? Argue with me again?"

"Well arguing wasn't _my_ intention," replied Ryan heatedly. "But it was clearly yours."

Shane gritted his teeth, glaring down at him. "You're gonna come to my office, and then you have five minutes to say whatever you came to say. Got it?"

Ryan didn't have time to reply before the elevator doors swished open. Shane slipped out the minute they were wide enough, striding down the busy hallway towards the meeting room from before. It was empty this time, visible through the glass. Shane pushed open the door, not bothering to hold it open for the man who was right behind him. Ryan shut it over, shrugging off his coat, a bit too warm for comfort now. He watched Shane continue on towards a door at the end of the room, nicely hidden away.

"My office is in here, you tool," said Shane coldly, holding the door open. The room inside matched the meeting room, but considerably smaller, and minus the long table. "C'mon."

"Why can't we just talk here?" asked Ryan, a little defensively. 

"Because it's harder to hear shouting from my office."

"I'm not going to be shouting."

"Speak for yourself."

Ryan swallowed, suddenly a bit anxious. Like he was a student going to the principal's office. _Oh come on, Ryan. He can't do shit_. Ryan went ahead into the office, hearing the door shut behind him. The room was a bit comfier than the rest of the floor, it seemed. A sizable desk, two chairs in front of it, one chair on the side where Shane was now standing. To his left was a giant window, overlooking the skyline that Ryan was beginning to grow very used to. 

"Sit down," commanded Shane, remaining standing as Ryan did what he said. "I showed you how I can help you, alright? I proved myself. But you refuse to help me out in return. So that means you'll be getting no more help from me. I didn't think I'd have to tell you that."

Ryan folded his arms across his chest, sitting back in the chair. "I don't need anymore help from you."

"Yeah. Let's just see how far you get without me." Shane sat down himself, picking up a pen, distractedly twirling it as he slowly spun back-and-forth in his chair. "Now, you wanted to ask me something?"

Ryan gritted his teeth. "Well, I suppose I can't now."

"There you go. You catch on quick." Shane nodded towards the door as he took a stapled pile of paper from under a book, popping the cap off his red pen. "Run along now."

Ryan got to his feet, narrowing his eyes at the other man. "Did you really have to take me all the way up here just to tell me that?"

"Oh, did I waste your time?" he replied bitterly, raising his gaze to meet Ryan's. "How sad."

A pause. "Petty."

Shane blinked, straightening up in his seat. "What?"

"Petty," repeated Ryan, hands on his hips. "You're being petty. Like a damn child. Hope you're proud of yourself."

"Excuse you, I-"

"You're refusing to help me solve the deaths of seven people," said Ryan fiercely, speaking over the other man. "Just because you can't see that this isn't personal. It's just business."

"Everything is personal, Ryan. Everything business, everything political, it's all personal." Shane spoke icily, not taking his eyes from Ryan's. "You might want to start seeing that. Might even help you in solving this case." Shane went back to his work, wondering why he was even still talking. "Accidents don't just happen. They're caused. By someone, by something."

Ryan was silent for a long moment, watching Shane scribble away on whatever was on the pages in front of him. "Go on."

Shane looked up at him, the pen pausing against the paper. "I said I'm not helping you anymore."

"I think you want to."

Shane paused. “Well I beg to differ.”

“Then beg.”

Shane looked up at this, mouth parted slightly. And on his face, for a half of a split second, was approval. But it was quite literally a half a split second. His gaze dropped again, pen picking up from where it had paused against the report. 

“You know, I don’t like that, Ryan.” He distractedly flipped the page of the report, looking for the next place to edit. “I don’t like it when you have this attitude with me. You were the same during your spontaneous midnight call.”

“It’s called having a personality,” replied Ryan coolly. “So sorry I don’t just cower away in the corner whenever you raise your voice even a little.”

Shane lifted his gaze again, but this time the look on his face wasn’t quite approval. It was too dark to be so. “No one does. But people respect me, so they do what I say.”

“Well then there’s your answer,” said Ryan icily, turning on his heel, storming back towards the door. “Earn my respect, and maybe I’ll consider cowering in the corner.”

“Ryan. Come back here.” 

Ryan came to a halt at the cold voice, half-turning to glare at him. “What.”

Shane got to his feet, chucking the pen onto the table as he circled from behind it. He didn’t take his eyes from Ryan’s, the two of them staring each other down. 

"I just think," began Shane, relatively quiet compared to before. Not quite friendly, but not as blatantly aggressive either. "That you're approaching this the wrong way."

"Why?" demanded Ryan, watching the taller man's face for a clue, for anything that could give away what he was thinking. "Why do you think that?"

Shane sighed heavily, lips pressed together as he came just that bit closer. "Someone poisoned the pills, right?"

"Right."

"And you're immediately going to this source and that source, and the people who created the pills, and the factories, and the plants, and all that. And it does makes sense, I know that." Shane shrugged, a helpless gesture. "I just think that instead of jumping straight to the source, maybe try and find the path that leads there."

Ryan didn't reply for a moment, searching his eyes, so deeply Shane felt oddly vulnerable all of a sudden. "What do you think happened?"

Shane blinked. "Me?"

"Yeah." The shorter man didn't seem exactly angry anymore. Just curious, a burning need to know what was on the taller man's tongue, what was in his head. "Yeah, you."

"Well, I don't know all the details," said Shane after a silence, rubbing the back of his neck. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. "I can't-"

"Come by the station tomorrow morning," said Ryan, looking him up and down as he turned away. "I'll fill you in."

Shane stayed by his desk, watching him go. "So you'll help me."

The door paused in opening, Ryan turning his head slightly to indicate he was listening. "Yeah. I'll help you."

He closed the door behind him, taking his still-damp coat off the meeting room table as he passed by. His quick glance back showed that Shane was still watching him, his tall frame dark against the gray clouds behind. He was so busy watching Shane watching him that he almost walked straight into her.

"Detective," said Miriam, not moving from his path. He jumped in surprise at the proximity of her voice. "What a surprise."

"Oh, hi, uh-"

"Miriam."

"Miriam, sorry, I just- Crazy morning, you know?" He smiled at her, an automatic gesture as he stepped around her. "Sorry, I'm just in a bit of a rush."

"Detective," she called, turning to face him at a leisurely pace. "I'm not sure if Pishos has told you yet or not, but there's a fundraiser on tomorrow night for the Janus family. The family with the three victims."

Ryan blinked at this, his heart skipping for a moment. "Oh? Why?"

"Shane suggested it at a meeting, actually," she smiled. "Thought Johnson & Johnson should be showing some compassion for the families of the victims. Some solidarity. So we chose the Januses." She raised her eyebrows. "Three funerals aren't cheap, you know!"

Ryan stared at her for a moment, even after she continued on down to Shane's office. "Right. Okay."

And there it was again. The smooth transition from disliking Shane to having some respect for the guy. He mightn't show he was listening, or show that he cared, but he was taking it in. He was just good at hiding it. A typical lawyer. Ryan found himself feeling oddly complimented at the fact that Shane had actually taken some of his advice, biting back his smile as he crossed the lobby towards the blurred street outside. Maybe the guy wasn't that bad after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> right so TJ (one of the cameramen on bfu) FINALLY confirmed he's Irish, a suspicion I've had for a long enough time, so now I have to include him because he is blood of my blood


	5. The Fundraiser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've never heard Chicago's tornado sirens, you're missing out on one of the creepiest man-made sounds I've ever heard  
> https://youtu.be/LnkMSmLc6mM  
> also it's relevant in this chapter lmao

The police station was imposing. Lacking about forty-five or so floors compared to Shane’s own place of work, but it was still impressive. Red brick, stocky, an archway over the front entrance, and two cop cars parked picture-perfect in front of it. Shane wandered up the white steps, coat folded over his arm. He was a bit hesitant, really. Ryan hadn’t given him any specific time to come by around, so he just picked nine. He hoped Ryan was in, anyway; he never got the warmest of welcomes at police stations. Lawyers tend not to. 

He glimpsed a blonde head through the glass door, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding as Ryan’s partner appeared through the door. “Hey, uh, is Ryan around?”

The guy blinked at him for a moment before suddenly recognizing him. “Oh, lawyerman! Yeah, he just got in.”

“Yeah, he told me to come around.” Shane glanced at the door, hoping he didn’t look as anxious as he felt. “Do I just walk in, or..?”

The blonde man watched him for a long few seconds before deciding to put him out of his misery. “I’ll get him for you, if you want.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’d be great.”  _Then I won’t have to introduce myself as a lawyer to half the building_.

He followed the cop through the bustling hallways, up a flight of stairs, to more matching hallways. He was chatting away the entire time, bright and bubbly, gesturing enthusiastically. Shane nodded at what he hoped were appropriate interjections. He was too busy hoping not to bump into any cops he may have a bit of bad blood with. Shane had a mouth on him, he knew that. He just never assumed he’d be on their turf if they met again.

“This is our little home,” beamed the cop, nodding at the door beside them. “Head on in, catch him before the rest of the team turn up.”

“Thanks, uh…”

“Steven!”

Shane pushed open the door, taking in the surrounding room; a table in the center (covered in pages and files and photos), chairs scattered around (some also covered in pages), a coat rack (covered in forgotten coats) and a cork board on a wall that seemed to be the only thing remotely organized. Ryan was standing just in front of the board, in a light blue shirt, sleeves rolled up, hands on his hips. He didn’t turn at the sound of the door closing.

“Maybe it’s a territorial thing,” he said, obviously unaware as to who was actually there. “Some rival dealers getting a bit too close for comfort?”

“I know how they feel.”

Ryan whipped around, a startled look on his face. “Jesus. Ever heard of knocking?”

Shane moved further into the room, chucking his coat onto the coat rack before peering at the photos on the table. “Organization isn’t one of your priorities, huh?”

“How about you don’t go poking your nose into stuff that isn’t your business,” said Ryan irritably, gathering the photos up. 

“I thought I was here to be shown this stuff?”

“I’m gonna show you the stuff I want to show you,” he replied, nodding towards the cork board. “You don’t get to choose.”

Shane opened his mouth to reply, his eyes landing on a familiar list on the board. “Hey, I made it onto the wall of fame!”

Ryan watched the taller man saunter over to the board, following over. “Yeah, you did.”

“Can I sign it?”

“Absolutely not.”

Shane grinned at him. “C’mon. Just a little one.”

Ryan squinted up at him. “…You’re kidding.”

The taller man raised his eyebrows. “Hey, you’re getting to know me a little.”

“A mistake on my part,” said Ryan dryly. “Now, I’m gonna show you what I think you need to know. But before I do that, I want to make sure of something.”

Shane raised an eyebrow as the shorter man folded his arms across his chest, turning to face him. “Alright.”

“This is all between you and me,” said Ryan quietly, a serious look on his face. “I need you to swear to me that you won’t tell anyone about our little deal. That you’ve coerced me into.”

Shane shrugged. “Yeah. I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

Ryan waited a moment. “You’re not going to deny the coercion?”

“Meh. It happens.”

“Coercion doesn’t just happ- God, whatever. Just don’t tell anyone.” Ryan suddenly extended a hand, the other still on his hip. “Deal?”

Shane took the hand, giving as firm a shake as he received. “Deal.”

“Great.” Ryan didn’t take his hand away, keeping his fingers fixed around Shane’s. “And no lawyer shit.”

Shane frowned. “Huh?”

“No lying, or scheming, or going behind my back, or selling me out,” said Ryan, highly aware of the warmth of the other man’s hand, the feeling of it wrapped around his. “Yeah?”

“I think that can be applied to your profession too,” said Shane wryly, an eyebrow raised. “But yeah. No lawyer shit.”

Ryan finally took his hand away, turning back to the board. “Right. This here is Reileen Adams. She worked as a secretary for Johnson & Johnson. She was found to be selling empty pill bottles to drug lords for transportation purposes. She got fired. And this is Thomas James Marchbank. He was in with her; he’d transport for Johnson & Johnson, but transport for the drug lords on his days off. He also got fired, but he said he never knew he was transporting drugs.”

Shane squinted at the few details listed under Reileen Adams’ pretty photo. “She runs a jazz bar now?”

“A brothel in disguise,” said Ryan flatly. “And Marchbank works as a waiter there. Which makes me think they’re still up to some drug stuff. And if they used to sell pill bottles and stuff, why would they stop?”

“Ah.” Shane gave the stubble along his jaw a distracted scratch as he looked further up the board, unaware of the shorter man’s eyes stuck to the movement. “You gonna visit them?”

“Not until later tonight,” said Ryan, turning his gaze away. “I was gonna-”

Shane frowned at him. “What about the fundraiser for the Janus family?”

Ryan glanced up at him. “Not a priority. Sorry.”

“Huh. I wasn’t expecting that.” Shane turned his unimpressed face back to the board. “Thought you were all about compassion.”

“I am,” replied Ryan. “But I’m a bit more about solving this thing.”

“I’m hurt, Ryan.” Shane turned away, heading back towards the table. “I actually am.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure you’re  _dying_ for me to be there,” said Ryan dryly, arms folded across his chest as he watched the other man wander around the table, a hand drifting out every now and then to turn a page towards him. “Trying to impress me or something, hm?”

“Impress you?” Shane looked up at this, fingers resting on a page of results from the lab downtown. “And why would you think that?”

“It just sounds like you took some of my advice,” said Ryan with a shrug. “From our first meeting.”

“I did,” replied Shane coolly. “Because it makes Johnson & Johnson look good to the public. Not because I want to impress you.”

“Sure.” Ryan came to a slow halt across the table from him, arms still folded. “I’ve shown what I want to show you, by the way.”

Shane straightened up with a wry smile, slipping his hands into his pockets. “What a polite way to tell me to fuck off.”

Ryan returned the half-smile. “If I wanted to tell you to fuck off, I’d tell you to fuck off.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ryan turned away as he spoke, mainly to hide his grin. “So fuck off.”

Shane almost left. He didn’t quite make it, however. He paused as an eerie wailing began filling the room, distant, rising, rising, rising, then falling with the same ominous tones. It was audible over the pattering rain beginning to fall against the window. It sounded like it was coming from the clouds themselves. Ryan’s eyes widened in alarm, turning to stare right at Shane, who stared back with equal concern.

“Oh Jesus.” Shane began scrambling to get his stuff, shoving his phone into his pocket, snatching his coat off the rack. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.”

“What?!” Ryan was frozen to the spot, the sirens still howling, sending chills right through him. “What is it? What are they?”

“Air raid sirens, you idiot!” Shane hurried to the window, staring up into the dense grey clouds above. “It’s the fucking Russians! Let’s go!”

“What?! What the fuck?” Ryan was the palest Shane had ever seen him, his eyes wide to the point of hilarity. “I don’t-”

“Holy shit, man.” Shane turned to look at him, grinning at the terrified look on his face. “You’re fucking shaking!”

Ryan blinked. “Well, yeah, I- Why are you smiling?”

“It’s the tornado siren, Ryan. A drill. First Tuesday of every month.” Shane began laughing openly, leaning against the windowsill, clapping his hands delightedly. “Oh my god, your face! I really didn’t think you’d fall for it.”

“That’s not funny, you ass!” Ryan plonked himself down in the nearest seat, slumped back in it as he tried to calm down. “Jesus, I believed you! I thought World War Three had just started!”

“You’re so goddamn gullible, man.” Shane headed back towards the door, a hand on the door handle. “How are you a cop?”

“Who decided to make the sirens sound so fucking horrifying?” Ryan went quiet to listen to them again, eyes raised to the side as he did so. “Fuck. I just got chills.”

Shane cleared his throat, looking away from the other man before he could be caught staring. “Yeah. Yeah, they’re spooky alright.”

He decided against saying goodbye, seeing as greetings and farewells were so far nonexistent in their relationship. He shrugged his coat on as he headed back out into the drizzle, into the wailing of the sirens which seemed to press in from all sides, folding the collar up to cover his neck as he hurried towards his car. And it was only once he sat into it that he allowed himself to feel what he had actually felt in the station. Disappointment. Disappointment that Ryan wasn't going to be at the fundraiser later. Shane scowled to himself, starting the engine, pulling away from the looming building. The radio turned on with the engine, and he let himself get distracted by the sound of _Snake Eyes_ playing low. He'd never been crazy about Mumford  & Sons, but he let the lyrics take his mind away as he drove through the rain towards his own place of work. Yet the lyrics seemed to take his mind back to Ryan. And this was as bad a sign as could be.

* * *

He decided to go. _Not_ because of Shane. He wouldn't even consider admitting that. No, it was Steven who suggested they go. Show their faces, show solidarity, Chicago's law forces united to find this insane individual who had poisoned the population, seemingly at random. Then on to the brothel. Or, uh, 'jazz club'. Ryan closed the car door behind him, following Steven up the steps towards Miriam Fahner's townhouse. It was bordering on a mansion.

"Jesus Christ," said Ryan, staring up at the looming entrance. "She must be a millionaire."

"She's the CEO of a law firm," said Steven flatly. "She's probably a billionaire."

There was a man on the giant double-doors. He opened it for them, which made them both a bit uncomfortable. Inside was a lavish hallway, the sort that had the upstairs landing circling around it. And it was already milling with people; lawyers, scientists, cops, politicians, a Johnson & Johnson spokesperson or two, anyone who was remotely relevant to the situation at hand. Ryan and Steven lingered in front of the doors, hearing them bang shut, like a cell sliding closed. They shared a look.

"Bar?"

"Bar."

But Ryan spotted him before they could quite make it to their destination, in the kitchen that belonged in a five-star restaurant. How could he not have? The guy's thick head of hair was easily visible above the crowd, bouncing slightly as he spoke, his usual red tie swapped for a black one. He hadn't bothered to do up the collar. Shane's eyes drifted past him, suddenly snapping back to fix on him, an eyebrow quirking. Ryan gave him a nod, continuing on after Steven. He wasn't sure if he picked out the 'excuse me for a moment' in Shane's eternally relaxed drawl, or if he imagined it. So he threw a quick glance back, immediately seeing the taller man weaving through the crowd towards him.

"I'll catch up with you in a second," he said to Steven, ignoring the suggestive eyebrow raised at him by his partner. "I will!"

“You could’ve put even a little effort into your appearance,” said Shane coolly, looking him up and down with a raised eyebrow as he reached him; the shorter man wore a white shirt, collar open, his face unshaven. And he somehow still looked good. “Even a tie would’ve helped.” 

“This event isn’t a priority for me. Which I told you already.” Ryan looked around the room; the rich and apathetic roamed freely. “And also, I don’t want to be here. And I’m surprised I even got an invite.”

“Oh, Miriam thinks we don't get on or something. I have no idea where she could've got that from."

"No idea."

"It’s all a game, little guy.” Shane took a sip of his drink, watching the other man over the rim of his glass. “Don’t want a rift starting between the legal department and the protectors of the nation, do we?”

Ryan raised his eyebrows, turning his head aside to study the room. “Doesn’t mean there isn’t a rift between you and me.”

“Don’t be mistaken, detective. I didn’t invite you because I like you.” He spared a smile at a passing politician, an amicable nod. “I suggested to Miriam to invite you so that people think this investigation is going well.”

“But it isn’t. It isn't really going anywhere yet."

Shane rolled his eyes, quickly turning his head to disguise the gesture from the rest of the room. “No one else needs to know that.”

“I think everyone should know that,” replied Ryan with a simple shrug. “No point in lying.”

“There’s every point in lying,” said Shane exasperatedly, throwing a withering glance at him out of the side of his eye. “You see those people over there?”

“The journalists?”

“The piranhas,” corrected Shane with a flicker of a raised eyebrow. “We show any signs of how slowly the investigation is going, or our  _real_  feelings towards each other, and they’ll rip us apart.”

Ryan was quiet for a moment before turning to face him directly. Shane mirrored the movement. “I don’t care about the media. Or any of the shit you just tried to make me care about. I care about solving this thing.”

“Oh, I get it. You’re a walking stereotype.”

“You can’t talk,” replied Ryan dryly.

“No, but I’m gonna talk anyway.” Shane began strolling casually through the bustling room, the shorter man doing exactly as he expected, sticking by his side. “These murders are very inconvenient, yes. But they’re over. They’ve happened. They’re in the past. The potential trials and tribulations Johnson & Johnson might have to face are still avoidable.”

“That’s your problem,” replied Ryan lightly, aiming them towards the bar in the corner. “My job is to find out the cause of things. Specifically from the past.”

Shane took a deep breath, pressing his lips together. “I feel like you’re trying your hardest to be uncooperative.”

“I think our views on the priorities of this thing are just a bit too different,” said Ryan with a sarcastic narrowing of his eyes. “One of us cares about the emotional damage caused by a killer who is still free. The other cares about money.”

Shane diverted his gaze for a few split seconds, just to calm the sparks of anger flickering in his stomach. He watched the other man order his drink, his own glass hovering just in front of his mouth.

“I think you could at least spare a smile,” he said quietly, not looking away as the other man turned his head to scowl right at him. “Just in good spirits.”

Ryan distractedly swilled his own drink around in his glass, not quite taking a sip yet. “Maybe you should’ve hired an actor to pretend to be a cop for you. But I’m not gonna jump when you say jump, buddy.”

“God, you’re difficult.”

Ryan threw a look at him. "Ever heard of a comb?"

"Ever heard of a razor?"

"You-" Ryan raised his eyebrows as he suddenly took a sip, looking aside. “Incoming.”

Shane turned his head, an easy smile already on his face. He and Ryan placed their drinks down simultaneously. “Ah, how are you?”

"Mister Madej," smiled Donaghue, looking less like a medical examiner this time and more like a politician. "And detective Bergara. You're becoming a bit of a duo, aren't you?"

"Oh, cooperation is essential, isn't it?" replied Shane smoothly, noticing Ryan turn his head away to roll his eyes. "It'd be great if this would end before things get blown out of proportion, right?"

Ryan watched in disapproving silence as Shane effortlessly gave the overall investigation a tasteful twist, the medical examiner leaving the conversation with a smile. Shane’s own smile slipped the second Donaghue turned away, a dark look flashing through his eyes. He leaned back on the bar, elbows resting on the surface, holding his drink precariously by the rim of the glass. Ryan wanted to take it away and place it onto the safety of the sturdy bar, but he restrained himself.

“What a bastard,” muttered Shane, turning back to the bar, folding his arms on it.

Ryan swallowed the drink in his mouth, raising an eyebrow at him. “Hm?”

“He’s trying to catch me out. Always does it.” Shane straightened back up, pausing just at Ryan’s shoulder. “You’re not the only one who's been trying to screw me over here, Ryan. And if they’re coming for me, they’ll set their sights on you very soon.”

Ryan didn’t look up at him, eyes watching his drink sliding around in his glass instead. “With or without encouragement from you?”

Shane sighed quietly, eyes raised to the ceiling. “I don’t like you, alright. But I value your position in this whole fiasco.” He muttered the words as he finally moved away. “ _And_ we have a deal now, remember?"

Ryan inhaled sharply, raising his eyes to the ceiling. Then he turned on his heel to follow after the taller man. "Why would Donaghue be trying to catch you out?"

Shane took a sip of his drink. "He was working for the prosecution during a trial one time, and I was on defense, and I made him look like a bit of an ass in front of the court."

"I can imagine that."

"Yeah, well, he never really let it go."

Ryan shook his head. "You guys must speak a different language. I didn't think that conversation was hostile at all."

"You lack the, uh, the finesse, Ryan."

They were stopped twice in the next ten minutes. The few members of the Janus family took a moment to shake Ryan's hand, to thank him for his work so far, to wish him luck in finding justice for them. Pishos and Miriam simpered and smiled and shook hands. The overall insincerity of it made Ryan's skin crawl. He wanted to leave already.

"You just love it here, don't you?" Shane grinned at him as they found themselves wandering the quieter corridors of the house, the main event sounding quite distant by now. "You look so happy."

"It's just a bit too fake," said Ryan simply, blinking hard to get his vision right again. "I- Yeah. Don't like it."

"I wasn't mad on it at first either." Shane shrugged. "But that's showbiz, baby."

"Don't call me baby," said Ryan slowly, focusing on stopping the floor from tipping. "Unprofessional." He felt a bit sick.

Shane laughed. "Right. I forgot how professional we always are."

"You don't-" Ryan stumbled slightly against him, a hand grabbing his shoulder for balance. “Fuck, I- Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Shane slipped an arm under Ryan’s as the shorter man stumbled again, a glare on the shorter man's face as he tried to focus on standing upright. He took the drink from Ryan's hand, placing their two glasses on the windowsill to their left. “You alright?”

“I think I- I just need to-” Ryan leaned against him for a long moment, head ducked, resting against Shane’s chest. “I feel weird.”

“Look at me for a second, yeah?” Shane tucked a finger under the shorter man’s chin to help him with this, tilting his head up and back. “Woah. Your pupils are huge.”

“I can’t- I can’t breathe,” muttered Ryan, sounding like what he was saying was true. He suddenly pushed away from Shane, stumbling to all fours, panting for breath. “I can’t- I can’t stand up.”

“What?” Shane stood near him, a little bit unsure of what to do. “Why? What the hell is up with you, man?”

“I’m dizzy. I’m just dizzy.” He pressed a hand to the wall beside them, struggling to stand. “I’m fine. Just give me a- gimme a minute.”

“Ryan, you’re not okay.” Shane caught him as the shorter man went to topple over again, hooking his arms under Ryan’s. “Did you take something?”

“No, no, no I didn’t-”

“You’re slurring like fuck, man.” Shane glanced up and down the corridor for any sign of help, biting his lip at their isolation. “I’m gonna get you help. Just… Stay here?”

“No.” His grip fixed on Shane’s shirt, surprisingly firm. “Home. I wanna go home.”

“You might be-”

“Home!” Ryan gazed up at him, like he couldn’t really tell who it was. “Take me home. I need sleep.”

“I don’t know where you live!” Shane placed a hand against the shorter man’s cheek to hold his head still, frowning with concern. “Hold on a fucking second.”

He sat Ryan down, heading back towards their two drinks; one was still golden colored. The other now had a blue hue, fizzing out from the bottom.  _Fuck_. Shane hurried back to Ryan, helping him stand up again, arms fixed around his waist.

“You’ve been roofied,” muttered Shane, heading towards the glass door visible a few windows down, an arm still hooked around the shorter man. It looked like it lead out into the garden. “By someone here. So I’m gonna take you away from here. That makes sense.”

“You don’t know me,” mumbled Ryan, allowing himself to be dragged out the door. “Stranger danger.”

"Shh. Fuck, how are you so heavy?" 

The valet simply assumed Ryan was shitfaced. He brought Shane's car around, helping him chuck the detective into the back. Then Shane drove on, thinking that he probably should've told some people he was leaving. But how do that without leaving Ryan alone? In a place where someone seemed to wish him harm? Shane turned in his seat, giving Ryan a shove.

"Hey. Hey, man, where do you live?"

Nothing but an incomprehensible mumbling as a reply. 

Shane sighed sharply, wondering how the hell this had happened. "Right. I guess you can crash in mine. And we'll discuss your apparent drugging in the morning?"

"That's compassionate," said Ryan, leaning forwards between the seats with a small smile. "You're showing me compassion. I'm proud."

"Yeah, sit back," muttered Shane, shoving a hand back into the other man's face to get him to sit back. "Sara's gonna be pissed. I said I was gonna be quiet coming in."

"I'll be _so_ quiet." Ryan leaned forwards again to talk, gazing at the taller man. "I'm so good at being quiet. _So_ good."

Ryan got increasingly worse the entire drive home, and it was very much evident he wasn't going to be quiet at all. Shane found himself trying to stop the shorter man from bolting every five seconds, instead of trying to keep him standing. He almost wished Ryan _would_ fall over, just stay still, just let himself be dragged, carried, whatever. Shane essentially sheep-dogged him into the elevator of the apartment building, hitting the top floor. And he really didn't like the way Ryan was looking at him. 

"I was thinking earlier," said Ryan, his words slurring. "I was like, thinking, and I think you're pretty hot."

"Woah." Shane raised his hands towards him, eyes widening in alarm. "Woah, slow down. Shut up."

"I didn't think so at first," continued Ryan, as if they were having a casual chat over coffee. "But then like, your whole thing you have going is hot."

"I don't think you know what you're saying right now," replied Shane with a nervous laugh, wishing the elevator would hurry the hell up. 

"I know exactly what I'm saying." Ryan lowered his voice to a secretive whisper. "You're hot."

"We're here!" said Shane suddenly, thankful for the fact the elevator went straight into the loft. "C'mon. And shut up. Please."

It was like trying to get a toddler to bed. Ryan tried to skip off at the slightest of distractions, Shane catching his arms, trying to ignore the feeling of the hard muscle against his hands as he walked the shorter man towards his room. _I should've just left him. This is so stupid_. He pushed open his bedroom door, turning on the light.

"You stay in here tonight," he said quickly, avoiding Ryan's eyes. "I'll stay in-"

“Come  _on_ ,” grinned Ryan, dragging him into the bedroom, a bit sloppily. “I just wanna talk.”

Shane shook his head firmly, keeping his gaze averted as the shorter man unbuttoned the rest of his shirt. “Ryan, don’t do that. Keep your shirt on.”

“Why the hell would I keep my shirt on?”

“Because you-” Shane grabbed hold of the shirt in question as Ryan went to shrug it off, pulling it back up over the shorter man’s shoulders. He let his eyes flicker down Ryan’s body as he did so, accidentally, just a slip up.  _Fuck it, he’s hot_. “No. Keep this on. Keep everything on.”  _Please_.

Ryan pulled Shane forwards with him, dropping back onto the bed, Shane falling on top of him. “ _You_  take it off for me.”

“What the hell, man?” Shane placed a hand either side of Ryan’s head, pushing himself up and away, feeling the fingers slip into his pockets, pulling his hips forwards. “Don’t. Don’t don’t don’t.”

“C'mon, just once,” smiled Ryan drowsily, looking up at him. “I’m okay with it!”

“You’re really in no state to decide what’s good for you,” muttered Shane, trying to remove the hands from his pockets. “So I will. And I’ve decided sleep is good for you.”

“Then help me go asleep.” Ryan’s hands slipped out from the taller man’s pockets, sliding under his shirt, gripping his hips. “I want to have sex with you!”

Shane’s heart froze, his body too. “Are you- Do you know what you’re saying right now?!”

Ryan nodded, a frown on his face as he focused on the movement. His voice was quieter, more carefully spoken. “I want to have sex with you.”

Shane swallowed hard, taking Ryan’s hands out from under his shirt, even though they felt very nice indeed. “Right. Right, you must be really fucked if you’re saying that.”

“Have sex with me!” Ryan almost shouted the words, ignoring Shane’s hissed ‘shut up!’ as he went straight for the taller man’s zipper. “Come  _on_ , just-”

“Stop it!” Shane grabbed the other man’s wrists, holding his hands a safe distance away. “You’ve been roofied, you idiot!”

“I want you,” continued Ryan, more sleepily now, a slow blink accompanying the statement. His arms relaxed, still hanging from Shane’s hands. “I want you to… I want…”

Shane almost passed out with relief as Ryan literally passed out. The detective flopped back onto Shane’s bed, already snoring quietly. It was more like snizzing. Shane stood with his hands on his hips for a long moment, processing what had just happened. Was this all some fever dream? Was he in a coma? He let his eyes linger on Ryan’s body again, turning away with a sharp curse. Then he turned back, hurriedly buttoning the man’s shirt somewhat. He maneuvered him into a position where he wouldn’t fall off the bed so easily, almost running out the door once he’d finished.

Sara was standing down the short hallway, just outside her own room, decked out in a dark blue pajama suit. She frowned at him, puzzled, a scissors in hand. His eyes widened at the scissors. She tossed them back into her room.

“I thought someone was attacking you!” she whispered as he came closer. “I was freaking the fuck out, Shane!”

“Jesus Christ, I need a cigarette,” he muttered, moving on to do just that. His heart was still beating double-time.

“Who’s in your room?” she asked, following him out through the sitting area to the balcony, accepting the offered cigarette. “You brought someone home from a fundraiser for the family of three murder victims?!”

“He’s- No, we’re not- Not sexual. It’s not.” _At least, it wasn’t_. “It’s the cop. The one I was telling you about.”

“The hot one?”

“I didn’t say he was hot!” he replied defensively. “Kelsey said that! I never did.”

"Well why the hell is he here?"

Shane scowled at the glittering lights all around them, stretching on and on into the distance. "I really have no idea. No idea at all."


	6. Familiarity

Ryan sat upright, bleary-eyed. His head felt muggy, foggy, like the dark street visible out the window across the room. It was an unfamiliar street. It was an unfamiliar room. He looked down at himself; still fully-dressed, although much more crumpled than before, the buttons of his shirt done wrong. He attempted to climb off the bed, his knees like jelly, almost buckling completely. Where the fuck was he? He took his phone from his pocket; 23 missed calls from Steven. Staying as quiet as he could, he rang his partner back. The answer was almost instantaneous.

"Ryan!" Steven sounded relieved to the point of passing out. "Where the fuck are you? Where did you go? I was freaking out, dude!"

"I- I don't really know," he replied, almost a whisper. "I don't know where I am. It's some apartment. Still in the city." A pause. "Did I drink too much or something?"

"No, you were fine!" Steven sounded just as baffled as he was. "You went to talk to that lawyer guy, and that was the last time I saw you. I was _this close_ to filing a missing person's report, Ryan!"

He put a hand on the locker beside the bed for support, immediately regretting this decision as he wobbled slightly, knocking off a small pile of books. They thumped to the floor. He winced. "Shit, I have to-"

A head appeared through the doorway, looking a hell of a lot more awake than Ryan did. He had a cup of coffee in hand. “Wakey-wakey, sleepyhead.”

“What the  _fuck_?” Ryan stared at him in baffled silence, eyes wide. "Steven, I've got to go." The phone dropped back to his side. “What am I- What are you doing here?”

“It’s my apartment.” Shane took a sip of coffee, like this was an average morning for him. “You feeling any better?”

“I literally have no fucking idea why I’m here or what I’m doing here. So no, I’m not exactly feeling good.” Ryan glanced at the bed, then back at Shane. “…Uh, you said this is your apartment…?”

Shane snorted once he realized what the other man was really asking. “Yeah, dream on, pal.”

“He slept in my room.” A woman appeared beside Shane, her curly hair half-tied back into a bun. It didn’t seem to want to be tied up at all. “I’m Sara, by the way. Shane’s roommate.”

“Roommate.” Ryan looked from one to the other, still feeling woozy, limbs heavy. “Can you tell me why I’m here?”

“We’ll get you some coffee first,” said Sara, giving Shane a disapproving frown as she turned away. “I will, at least.”

“And then we shall spin you a yarn you shan’t soon forget,” said Shane wryly as Ryan passed by him, still seeming a little shaky. “Take it easy there, bucko.”

“I feel like that scene in  _Inception_ ,” said Ryan, focusing on not tipping sideways as he followed Sara to the kitchen. “You know the bit with the rotating hallway?”

“You mean one of the best scenes in movie history? Yeah, I know it.”

The kitchen was surprisingly… homey. The whole loft was, actually. It was large, no doubt about it. But it wasn’t anything like the glass and chrome office Ryan had come to associate Shane with. It was warm, lots of dark wood and natural light, and a gathering of plants every now and then. Ryan couldn’t imagine Shane caring for anything, not even a plant. It must be the roommate who waters them.

“You take milk?”

Ryan blinked himself out of his thoughts, staring at Sara, who had just finished pouring the hot cup of coffee. “Uh, yeah. And sugar. One sugar.”

“Sugar.” Shane stepped around him, sitting at the table in the center of the room. “Weak.”

Ryan threw a dry look at him, sitting down as well. It felt good to sit already. “I didn’t drink too much, did I? I don’t have a hangover.”

“Oh, you were absolutely wasted,” replied Shane immediately, eyebrows raised. “You punched Pishos in the face, and you wouldn’t stop hitting on me. It was messy.”

Ryan narrowed his eyes at the badly-disguised smirk. “Yeah, right. I would’ve believed you if you hadn’t said I was hitting on you.”

Shane didn’t reply, and not because of the irony. No, he was too busy wondering how someone could wake up from being literally drugged, dressed in rumpled clothing with a half-buttoned shirt, with a few day’s stubble and ruffled hair, and still look like the most beautiful man he’d ever seen in his life. He turned his head away, a slight scowl on his face.

Sara placed the mug down in front of Ryan, the steam visible in the gold sun. “You were drugged. We think.”

If Ryan had even managed to take a sip, he would’ve spat it right back out again. “What?!”

“You just went insanely stupid, all of a sudden. Even more than usual.” Shane spoke with the same snark he always did, but it didn’t seem to have as much punch as usual. Probably due to his flannel shirt - which was unbuttoned a considerable amount - and his  _I just rolled out of bed_  hair. “You could barely even walk. And you only had one drink. So unless you’re a hell of a lightweight, you were drugged.”

Ryan stared at him, arms folded around his coffee. “I’m not a lightweight.”

“ _That’s_  your response?”

“Stop being an ass, Shane.” Sara rolled her eyes at Ryan, apologetically. “He’s cranky in the morning.”

“He’s cranky all the time,” muttered Ryan, throwing the man in question a flat look. “But I still don’t understand. Why would anyone drug me?  _Who_  would drug me?”

“Maybe to get you to shut up.” Shane took a sip of coffee. “I should try it sometime.”

“God, you’re full of it this morning, aren’t you?” Ryan raised his own mug to his mouth. “I didn’t think I had a hangover, but I guess you’ll do instead.”

“I potentially saved your life last night, and  _this_  is the thanks I get?” Shane sat back in his chair, long legs stretched out. He didn’t seem to care that he accidentally kicked Ryan in the process. “You can walk yourself home next time, pal.”

“Okay, I think that’s enough,” said Sara scoldingly. “Ryan, you said you _don't_ have a hangover?”

He paused. "Well, no. I feel fine. A bit tired, but that's all."

"Mind if I have a look? I'm a doctor." She stood in front of him, suddenly leaning down, her fingers holding his eye open. "That's strange. If you were roofied, you'd been like shit for the next day or so." She placed the back of her hand on his forehead, still frowning. "Weird. What made you think it was roofies, Shane?"

He shrugged. "His drink turned blue. Don't roofies have a blue center?"

"Yeah, but they're not the only ones." Sara straightened back up, finally letting Ryan blink again. "Ryan, I'm going to give you my number, straight to my office. Let me know if you start feeling weird at all. For the next seventy-two hours."

"Uh, yeah." He took the piece of paper she'd scrawled a number on, nodding. "Thanks. But I still don't know who would've drugged me."

Sara thought. "You pissed anyone off recently?"

Ryan blinked. Then he turned his suspicious gaze to Shane, who let his mug drop from his mouth back to the table.

"Are you serious, Ryan?" he said flatly. "Yeah, you're annoying. But where's the logic in drugging you and then making sure you don't get yourself killed? Bit counterproductive."

"Well- Well then..." Ryan paused, frowning thoughtfully into his coffee. “I- I don’t know. I don't think I pissed anyone off. No one there, anyway. I think.”

“You think?”

Ryan glanced at her. “I don’t know! I didn’t really know anyone there. I was just going to pop by for a few minutes, show my face, then piss off. I didn’t even want to be there!”

Sara turned her eyes to Shane. “Did you notice anyone acting shifty?”

Shane swallowed his mouthful of coffee, placing the mug back down. “Everyone. But no one more shifty than the next.” He shrugged. “It was mainly politicians, businessmen. They were all shady as fuck.”

Ryan buried his face in his hands, sighing heavily. “God. Just- Who was I with for the night? Mainly?”

“For the half-hour you were there, me.” Shane linked his hands behind his head, not seeming too bothered by the way the movement pulled his shirt open a tad, exposing a bit more of his chest. He noticed Ryan’s eyes linger on the bared skin for only a second too long before they moved back up to meet Shane’s. “We were having a delightful time. I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Did anyone come by?” asked Ryan, resting his head in his hand, fingers rubbing his temple. “Anyone weird around me?”

Shane actually thought about this, gaze drifting aside. “Pishos came over. Donaghue was there, he came to say hi. Miriam. The Janus clan. That’s all.”

Ryan gave the stubble along his jaw a quick scratch as he thought. “What about waiters?”

Shane went silent, his face growing serious. “I don't think there _were_ any."

"Bartender?"

Shane raised an eyebrow. "Just a normal guy, from what I saw. And if it _was_ the bartender, then it was Miriam, because she owns the place."

Ryan ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. "Look, thanks and all, but I should really go. I mean, what time is it?"

Shane checked his watch. "Half seven."

Ryan blinked. "Wait, what? That doesn't make sense. I only went to the fundraiser at..." The sentence trailed off. "Have I been asleep for the _whole fucking day?"_

Sara and Shane looked at each other, Shane giving a passive shrug. "Yeah, pretty much."

"Oh, fuck." Ryan scrambled to his feet, searching for his keys in his pocket. "God, fuck it, I didn't take my car, and I don't have my coat, and I don't-"

"Relax, man." Shane got to his feet, fixing up his flannel to look a bit more acceptable in public. "I'll drive you home."

Ryan hesitated, biting his lip. "Okay. Okay, thanks."

"Don't look so scared," said Shane dismissively, moving past him, shrugging on his coat as he headed for the door. "My driving has improved drastically since our first encounter."

"Well, it couldn't get much worse."

* * *

After a flurry of worrisome thoughts and a lecture that would give any parental figure a run for their money, Steven finally allowed himself to calm down at the resurfacing of Ryan. They were clearly best friends as well as coworkers, an observation that had Shane feeling a bit miffed. He wasn't even sure what he was doing in Ryan's apartment. The guy had just said that he wanted to discuss something with him, and that they'd be better off discussing it in a more private setting. Shane stayed quiet as Steven fussed and panicked over Ryan's unexpected adventure, before his eyes landed on Shane.

"You vanish for twenty-four hours and then expect me to- Oh hey, lawyer."

Shane was finally noticed, lingering just beside the door, hands in his pockets. "Yeah, hi."

Steven turned his questioning face back to Ryan, giving a not-so-subtle nod towards the taller man. Ryan shook his head instantly, shoving past into the apartment to hide the light blush across his cheeks. The apartment was relatively small, compared to Shane's (every apartment was, really) but light and airy, and the space was used nicely. Shane wondered which one was the interior decorator.

"You wanna come in?" asked Steven, turning back to face Shane. "You like coffee?"

"Uh, yeah, Ryan said he wanted to tell me something," said Shane, wondering why he wasn't too enthusiastic about this other cop. The guy was super nice, that wasn't debatable. But Shane just didn't _like_ him. "So yeah, I guess I'll come in."

Ryan swiftly disappeared. He'd been a bit moody the entire drive, and understandably so. It wasn't everyday you go out for a work do and wake up the next morning having been heavily drugged. Shane took a seat in the small sitting room, on the arm of the sofa. Steven sat across from him, still bright and bubbly. Shane listened to the torrent of bullshit coming from the man's mouth, feeling like his coat was suddenly a bit too warm for his liking.

"-and then me and my girlfriend went-"

Shane glanced at him, suddenly paying attention. "Girlfriend?"

Steven nodded. "Yeah, my girlfriend. She's great. She-"

And suddenly, the man's incessant chatting wasn't annoying anymore. Ryan reappeared seconds later, his crumpled shirt swapped for an unwrinkled black one. He looked... nice. Shane averted his gaze, finding the ceiling quite interesting all of a sudden. Ryan plonked himself down on the sofa beside Steven, interrupting the flow of conversation.

"Oh?" Steven looked at him. "I thought we were gonna go to that jazz bar place."

"We are." Ryan grinned. "What's the point in going down all decked out in FBI gear? They'll have the place shut up when we're still two blocks away."

"You sure you should even be going?"

"Yeah, I'm fine! I slept for like, fifteen hours!"

"Is there something you wanted to tell me?" interrupted Shane, feeling just a whole lot out of place. "Because it's late, and I-"

"Yeah. Yeah, there is." Ryan rubbed a hand over his mouth, letting it rest there. "I want you to come with us."

Shane blinked at this, but Steven reacted much more openly. 

"What?!" Steven reared back on the sofa, eyes wide. "Why? He can't do anything! What if something happens?"

Shane was still looking at Ryan, an eyebrow raised. "Yeah, I really don't know if-"

"Look, the place is a brothel, we all know that," said Ryan, hands spread. "And that's very much illegal. But we can't go in looking for information about the pills if we're gonna charge them for prostitution." He listed the following on his fingers, eyebrows raised. "There's gonna be immunity, anonymity, some ignorance on our part, I just think..." He shrugged, letting his hands fall back onto his legs. "I just think it's safer if we have a man of the law with us. In case it gets out of hand."

Shane waited in silence, realizing that it was actually his turn to fill said silence. "Oh. Oh, uh, yeah. How out of hand could it get, though?"

"Probably not much," said Ryan with a passive shrug, getting to his feet. "It might just get a bit complicated, you know? But you can say no. If you don't want to _help_."

Shane lifted his gaze at the weighted word, immediately understanding the guy's gist. _Help is a two-way street, Shane. Help us now, and there's something in return for you down the line_. And despite his weariness, despite the warning signs flashing in his head, he got to his feet with a nod. 

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll help." He gestured at his flannel, a flat look on his face. "But I'll need to get changed."

Ryan paused in turning away, glancing back over his shoulder. "You can wear something of mine."

* * *

This area of the city was surprisingly... classy. Even with the dubious bars and clubs lining the way, neon signs reflecting on the wet street below, people passing under them, black figures illuminated for swift seconds as they did so. It was all long coats, heels, unnecessary sunglasses. Ryan nudged Shane's hand to tilt the umbrella back so he could see the name of the 'jazz bar'. It didn't seem to have one. Just a glowing outline of a martini, flickering blue. Steven sat in the car, a few rows back, phone in hand in case anything did go downhill.

"If I die in here," muttered Shane, one hand still holding the umbrella, the other in his pocket. "I'm gonna have a hard time forgiving you for dragging me into this."

"It's not going to end in some dramatic shootout, Shane," replied Ryan, not looking at him, arms folded across his chest. "This is real life. People actually cooperate a lot."

"Then what do you even want me to do here, Ryan?" Shane turned his head to glower down at him, wondering why the shorter man seemed to be refusing to look at him. "I won't be much help if anything goes wrong."

"If I'm doing anything that could backfire in any way," said Ryan quietly, an eyebrow raised. "I want you to tell me to shut up. That's all."

"That sounds delightful," replied Shane with a half-smile, absent-mindedly running the back of his hand down his cheek, under his chin, feeling the rough hair. "You think they allow beards? Since it seems like _such_ a classy establishment."

Ryan rolled his eyes, finally sparing a glance at him. And there it was again. The sharp jolt through him at the sight of the taller man wearing one of his shirts, the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, collar undone. He looked good in it. Ryan wished he hadn't lent him a white one.

"What?" asked Shane irritably, frowning at the prolonged stare. "What is it? Do I have something on my face?"

"Shut up."

Ryan moved towards the entrance, the umbrella remaining over his head as the taller man stuck right beside him. Silent. Again. He was being silent a lot, distant, a lot more than before the fundraiser. And this made Ryan's stomach churn at the possibility, at the chance that he'd said something stupid. _Done_ something stupid. And the fact that neither Shane nor his roommate had told him if he'd done anything was a bad sign. 

"Well?" Shane collapsed the umbrella, shaking the drizzle off it as he continued frowning in confusion at the shorter man. "What's the deal here, Bergara? We just walk in?"

Ryan shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess. Yeah, I guess we just walk in."

"Brothels probably function the same that way as any other building." Shane glanced at the unsuspecting door, which was open ever so slightly, dim light and dull chatter within. The lazy sound of a piano was just a bit louder than the pattering of the rain. "I'll go first. If you want."

Ryan shook his head, brushing past to push open the door. "I think I can handle it."

The door opened right into the bar itself. Circular tables dotted the dimly-lit room, all placed strategically, to avoid faces being recognized, relationships being ruined. A raised stage was by far the nicest area, with a whole band playing some perfect background music. A few booths along the edge were a bit more secluded. And the doors dotting the walls were probably exactly what Ryan suspected they were. He swallowed, heading right over to the bar, where a woman sat scouring the local paper, a cigar hanging from her mouth. She didn't even look up at the two men as they paused in front of her.

"Uh..." Ryan wondered how to get across the message that they weren't there for anything inappropriate, without making them look too suspicious. "We just-"

“You guys are cops. Fuck off.”

Well, never mind. Ryan opened his mouth to respond, Shane slipping in first. As usual.

“Uh, I’m actually a lawyer,” he corrected, head tilted slightly.

The madam raised her dark eyebrows with interest, looking up from her book. “Criminal lawyer?”

“Nah.”

“Then fuck off.” The cigar returned to her lacquered lips, her perfectly-winged eyes to her book. “I don’t provide services to scum.”

“Oh. Ouch.”

“We’re actually here to talk to one of your employees,” said Ryan, really wishing it was Steven at his shoulder instead of Shane’s smirking face. If he knew they were going to be figured out that quickly, he would've brought Steven anyway. “Nothing personal. Just information on another issue.”

The madam glanced back up, not lifting her head. She spoke around her cigar. “It's not these poisoned pills, is it?" She tapped the article she was reading. "Been hearing a shitload.”

“Yeah,” nodded Shane, before Ryan could point out that it was actually confidential. “This bozo thinks he might be getting somewhere at last. I’m here for the moment he realizes it’s a waste of time.”

The madam grinned at this, straightening up. “You’re funny. You’re a funny man. I might have a girl or two perfect for you.”

“Yeah.” Shane shook his head. “But not interested right now.”

“And what about you?” continued the madam, turning her attention to Ryan, a real businesswoman in action. “Care to have a glance? I know cops are honorable, but not the ones that come in here.”

Ryan also shook his head, deciding not to follow up on that. “Nah. I’m good.”

“Oh come on.” She looked from one to the other, eyes wide as she removed the cigar from her mouth. “Neither of you? This is the first time-” She cut herself off, a small smile on her face. “What about boys?”

“ _Now_ you’re talking.” Shane nodded towards the shorter man, grinning at her. “Got any that look like him but don’t talk half as much?”

“Shut the fuck up,” said Ryan sharply, an offended glare on his face. “No, we’re just here to talk to Reileen Adams. And Thomas James Marchbank. If they're around.”

“Well I’d be up for a little-”

“No, Shane!” Ryan went to follow the madam down the bar, scowling back at the taller man. “Jesus. It’s illegal, remember?”

Shane shrugged. “Eh. You got me.”

The madam paused to fill up two whiskey tumblers, dropping some ice into both before sliding them over the bar. She was smooth, in almost every way, but for her bouncing curls. Ryan peered into his drink suspiciously, Shane going right ahead and taking a sip beside him.

"On the house," said the madam, tapping the side of her nose. It had a small piercing, the diamond sparkling against her dark skin. "But I think you probably know what I'll be asking for in return?"

Ryan threw a look at Shane, who raised an eyebrow back. "Immunity?"

"Anonymity, at the very least," she replied firmly. "For this entire building, and all its employees. I don't know what shit you might be getting yourself into, but I don't want this place touched. That's not debatable."

Ryan turned his head away, for once waiting for Shane to speak first. Anonymity was a pretty serious process, and pretty difficult too. Especially for multiple people at once. To his surprise, Shane didn't take much more prompting.

"I think that's something that can wait until after any relevant questionings." He leaned forwards, folding his arms on the bar, the drink still in hand. The words rolled off his tongue, deceivingly casual. "If this place actually has nothing to do with what we're looking for, then what's the point in getting anonymity from the get-go?" A lazy sip of his drink. "Word spreads, I'm sure you know. And it might look better for you if you don't cooperate so openly with the feds right from the beginning."

The madam watched him closely for a long moment. "I want your word that if anything goes tits-up, this place and its occupants get anonymity. Complete anonymity."

"You have my word," shrugged Shane.

"Not yours," she replied, almost cuttingly. She looked back at Ryan. "Yours. You're the cop, after all."

Shane raised his eyebrows at this. "I didn't think cops were renowned for being trustworthy."

"I don't have that great of a selection here," she said coolly. "Either a cop, or a lawyer. And out of the two of you, the cop seems a bit less..."

"Intelligent?"

"Cunning."

Ryan glanced at Shane, who gave the slightest of nods. "Yeah. You have my word."

"Great." A quick shake of hands, to seal the deal. "Wait here.” The madam gestured at the bar, her polished nails shining in the low light. “I’ll get Reileen now. I think she’s in. Marchbank's in the stock room."

Ryan sat in one chair. Shane sat in another. They didn’t talk for a moment or so, both occupied with their own thoughts. Which were, of course, to do with each other. Shane crossed his legs in a figure four, chin resting on his hand as he watched Ryan. The detective didn’t look at him, not even once.  _So what was last night then, Ryan?_  Shane frowned as he studied the other man’s face.  _Was it the bumblings of a drugged idiot, or do you think something could happen here?_  He dropped his hand back down onto the bar, his wrist draping off the side.

“I didn’t think this would be part of our deal, Ryan,” he said, deciding the end the heavy silence. “I’m not sure if I want to be dragged to this sort of shit with you.”

“I didn’t drag you anywhere,” replied Ryan with a shrug. “You agreed to my suggestion. There’s a difference.”

“I know what you were really saying,” said Shane quietly, not turning his gaze away as Ryan glanced at him. “You were saying that if I help you, you’ll help me. There’s something coming up after this.” He smiled at Ryan’s scowl. “I’m a lawyer, little guy. You can’t out-hint me.”

“Yeah. What was I thinking.” He leaned forwards, elbows resting on his knees, a hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe I’m still feeling those roofies.”

“I’m still baffled,” said Shane with a raised eyebrow. “I mean, you’re annoying, but not  _that_  annoying.”

“You’re too kind.”

“Maybe it was just a wrong drink,” shrugged Shane. “Some scumbag trying to chance his luck with some girl. And got it wrong.”

Ryan rubbed a pensive hand over his mouth, frowning at nothing in particular. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“You have some theories?”

“I always have theories.” Ryan threw him a dry look. “Which I’ll spare for when I’m not talking to you.”

Shane rolled his eyes dramatically, sighing. “I don’t get it. I’ve seen you interact with other people. You’re so nice to everyone else but me. Why’s that?”

“Because you don’t listen to me unless I’m being a dick,” replied Ryan instantly, nonchalantly swinging a leg back and forth as he sat. “And don’t even try to deny that.” He suddenly reached out, pushing Shane's drink away from the man's hand. "And stop downing that thing, dude!"

"What? Why not?"

"You're working."

"This isn't part of my job, man." Shane sat slouched in the hair, his chin resting on his hand, scowling at the drink like a moody child. “I can’t even just have one drink?”

“No,” replied Ryan sharply. “You’re accompanying me on a matter of police business! Don’t be an ass!”

Shane’s face suddenly brightened, looking at something over his shoulder. Ryan turned his head to see what it was, finding himself staring right at one of the waitresses. She was beautiful, no doubt about it. Dressed a bit skimpily, but Ryan highly doubted she had any choice in her outfits. And she irritated him instantly.

“Drinks?” she asked in an oddly suggestive voice, having eyes only for Shane. “Or anything else?”

Shane raised his eyebrows, chin still resting on his hand as she casually came closer. “What’s the ‘anything else’ package?”

Ryan watched in silence as the woman went right ahead and sat across Shane’s lap, making her occupation as a waitress highly unlikely. He realized his hands were clenched into fists as her skirt hitched up her thighs, Shane’s hands taking its place.

“I think that’s enough!” blurted out Ryan, sitting upright in his chair. “We don’t need drinks. We’re fine.”

Shane gave him a moody scowl as the waitress reluctantly got off him, righting her skirt again as she moved from Shane to him. Ryan didn’t break eye contact as she traced a finger along under his jaw, stopping at his chin.

“You sure?” she asked, all sultry smiles and smouldering eyes. “Couples come in often eno-”

It was Shane’s turn to burst out a sentence. “Not a couple! We’re not a couple. Ha ha. Nope.”

“And I’m fine,” said Ryan flatly, using a finger to push hers away. “Really. I am.”

She raised a dark eyebrow, suddenly looking thoughtful. “You’re pretty cute, you know that? Nice face, nice body. And we need more men here. If you’re ever-”

“He said he’s fine,” said Shane, suddenly very cold indeed. His glare didn’t move as she turned to look at him, Ryan also giving him a puzzled frown. “We’re fine. Thank you.”

She rolled her eyes, turning away. “Jesus. Either be together or don’t be together.”

Her heels clicked as she moved away. Shane was suddenly very glad for the low chatter and smooth music filling up the room. It made the sudden silence between them ten times less tense. He turned to face the bar more directly, folding his arms on it, taking a sly sip of the whiskey handed to him. Thankfully, he wasn't scolded this time. Ryan let his eyes float over the room, trying to make out any faces, anything that could lead him anywhere at all. A movement in the corner caught his eye, someone slipping behind a curtained doorway, black on black on black.

"You're not into girls?" asked Shane all of a sudden, not taking his eyes from his drink, as if the swirling motion he was causing was the most interesting thing in the world.

"Uh, no. Not really." Ryan realized he was tapping out an erratic rhythm on the bar, forcing himself to stop. "Yeah. Ha. Whoops. If only she knew I was a cop."

"And you better stick with that," said Shane wryly, remembering the feeling of Ryan's hands under his shirt, on his skin, nice and warm and firm. "Because you'd make a terrible whore."

Ryan blinked at this, an almost-frown on his face, like he wasn't too sure whether to bother frowning fully or not. "...I'm insulted. For some reason."

"You don't have the confidence," said Shane with a shrug, as if he couldn't help that this was a fact. "You just don't."

"Wait, what?" Ryan decided to let the frown take over. "I'm confident. You don't even know me."

"Then give me a lapdance," said Shane with the same practiced casualness as earlier. "Right now."

"I- I- No! No way!"

"You see, if you asked me to do such a thing, I'd do it," said the taller man, closing his eyes as he shrugged his shoulders. "Which is why I'd make a great hooker."

"Have you thought about this before or something?" grinned Ryan, folding his arms across his chest as he sat back. "You seem pretty chill about it."

"I went through law school, Ryan. You have no idea how many times I considered hitting the streets for cash instead of finishing that hellcourse." 

"Well just to prove you wrong about me, check this out." Ryan got to his feet, rolling his shoulders, loosening himself out like he was about to go for gold at the Olympics. "I can-" 

The sound of the madam returning made Ryan stop, his arms falling back to his sides as he saw a short blonde woman and a bearded man accompanying the madam. Shane allowed the disappointment to wash over him for two seconds before getting to his feet, standing at Ryan's shoulder. 

"This is Reileen and TJ," said the madam, sweeping an arm towards her employees as she came closer. "They know who you are. They know what the deal is. They'll go with you to the station."

Ryan looked at them, an eyebrow raised. "You guys okay with that?"

"Yup," replied TJ, his unbuttoned waistcoat and undone tie making his work ethic seem quite clear indeed. "This is gonna make my shift finish early. Hell yeah."

"Same," replied Reileen, the two of them high-fiving in celebration.

"Oh, go choke," said the madam disapprovingly, taking up her position behind the bar with her book. "And I'll see you in the morning, remember?"

TJ stuck his tongue out at her as he passed with his coworker, Ryan and Shane following. 

"I guess I can go home now, right?" asked Shane, sounding just a bit hopeful. "I've done my part."

"And you want your reward, right?" replied Ryan, looking up at him as they wandered to a stop beside Steven's car, the two employees of the bar already seated inside. "I think you do."

Shane sighed heavily, a hand on the roof of the car. "Right. Right, what's the reward?"

"Come to the station with me and find out," replied Ryan with a smile, gesturing into the back of the car. "You won't be disappointed. I promise."

"You promise," repeated Shane dryly. "Oh, how could I say no to that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the Boyz look better with stubble/beards and I'll never change my mind


	7. Bite The Hand That Feeds

"He's going about it wrong," shrugged Shane, arms folded across his chest as he observed the scene. "These people are a bit dodgy, yeah, we all know that. But they're loyal too."

Ryan was visible through the one-way glass, chatting away to TJ and Reileen. He'd reattached his badge to his belt, the gold glinting amid his all-black outfit. Shane bit his lip distractedly, looking the man up and down. The longer he spent with him, the more he was beginning to appreciate the guy's face. And body. And almost everything apart from his attitude. And it wasn't even a _bad_ attitude. It just clashed with Shane's. Which was something he'd hated at the beginning, but now... He wasn't sure.

"What would you know?" said Pishos, sounding a little bit irritated. "You're not a cop. I don't even know why you're here."

Pishos had seemed a bit irked when Shane had turned up to the station alongside Ryan and Steven. He looked like he wanted to tell Shane to get lost, but he couldn't boss Ryan and Steven around, and therefore decided to leave it. So Shane had wandered right into the lion's den, for the second time that week. 

Shane threw Pishos a sidelong look, wondering if he was reading the man's tone wrong. "I was invited. I didn't just wander in for the fun of it." He turned his eyes back to Ryan. "And I'd know a good bit about criminals, actually. I'm a lawyer."

"A company lawyer."

"And you think there's no criminals involved in my line?" asked Shane with a hardly-concealed smirk. "But then again, what would you know?"

Pishos glowered at him for a long few seconds. "I didn't think you and Bergara were friendly."

Shane paused at this, his eyes still glued to Ryan, but distant. "Why'd you think that?"

"Because I have eyes and ears." Pishos checked his watch, a distracted gesture. "Yet I seem to have been... quite incorrect."

Shane swiftly decided to steer the conversation well away from this topic, clearing his throat. "Am I allowed go in?"

Pishos glanced at him. "And do what?"

"Ask a question or two."

A pause. "I suppose. Since it's to do with your current case."

Shane nodded, stepping around him, feeling a little bit trapped all of a sudden. "Great. Buzz me in, or whatever it is that happens."

* * *

Ryan stepped outside at the sound of the buzz, Steven with him. Pishos and Shane stood waiting, the latter turned aside, studying a picture on the wall. His fingers were fidgeting slightly; he probably wanted a cigarette. Which meant he was nervous about something. Ryan didn't smile when he looked at him, and Shane didn't smile either. 

"If it's okay with you, detective," began Pishos, in his usual monotone. "Madej might ask the two employees a question or two."

Ryan blinked at this, an eyebrow raised. "I-"

"Cool, I'm dying for a coffee anyway," said Steven immediately, bouncing off down the hallway. "You want one, Ry?"

"No, I'm good." He was too busy watching Shane, wondering exactly what he was up to right there and then. "I'm fine with it. If I go in with him."

Shane shrugged, hands in his pockets. "I'm cool with that."

Pishos' departure was answer enough on his part. Ryan took hold of the door handle before Shane could, keeping it closed as the taller man frowned at him.

"What are you doing?" asked Ryan, voice hushed. "This isn't an opportunity for you to spring any surprise cross-examinations on them, okay?"

Shane rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall, hands still in his pockets. "I'm well aware, Ryan. I just think you're doing a shitty job, and I-"

"Excuse me?" Ryan glanced behind him, in case this sudden outburst had drawn any unwanted attention, before scowling at the taller man. "The hell would you know about-"

Shane swiftly interrupted him, straightening up off the wall. "Always assume the answer is 'a lot'. Now, shall we?"

Ryan hesitated, eyes narrowed. "This is pushing the limit here, Madej. I'm just letting you know that."

"We'll do a little good-cop bad-cop, yeah?"

"Nah, we'll do I'm a cop, you're not a cop," said Ryan dryly, finally pushing open the door. "Just remember that."

It took mere minutes before Shane had an answer out of them, and even though he'd rather choke than admit it, Ryan was impressed. He was a true lawyer; turning the professional setting down a few notches, joking, laughing, creating somewhat of a bond, and before TJ knew it he was treating him like a good friend. Ryan barely had to talk at all. Reileen remained quiet, however, much more guarded, more reserved. Ryan decided to continue taking the back seat, wondering how Shane would steer the questioning with someone a bit more difficult. He wandered to a halt behind Shane's chair, where the lawyer sat with a leg kicked up on the table, hands linked behind his head, positively lounging. 

"But this sort of thing isn't exactly new to the both of you, right?" said Shane, an eyebrow raised. "You've both had your run-ins with the law before."

TJ ducked his head instantly, turning away slightly from Reileen. Ryan let his eyes flicker from her to Shane, to see if he'd picked up on the subtle hints that movement can give. Of course he had.

"You didn't know what you were doing," said Shane as he gestured at TJ, dropping his leg off the table. "But _you_ did, Ms Adams. Right?" 

She kept her dark eyes fixed on his, face blank. "It's in the past now. I can't change it. It doesn't matter."

"That's correct," shrugged Shane, folding his arms on the table, watching her as sharply as she was watching him. "But what if it could affect your future? Let's say, if your current employer is unaware of your past?"

She swallowed, lowering her gaze. "I can't tell if that's a threat or not. Sir."

Ryan subtly placed a hand on Shane's shoulder, fingers just about brushing him. "Shane. Watch it."

"It's not a threat," said Shane lightly, turning his head a tad to show he'd heard Ryan. That he'd felt him. "It's an offer I'm trying to make here, Ms Adams."

This made her perk up, her eyes lifting again. "If you could elaborate, I'd appreciate that."

"You probably know some inner circles, right?" smiled Shane, all calm and collected. He saw TJ glance at her, the smallest of gestures. "Some people who may still do what you'd been doing."

She looked from Shane to Ryan, who was still standing at Shane's shoulder, a curious frown on his face. "Yes. Yes, I might know some... people."

“Good. That's good. You might be able to let us know these people, yeah?" A pause. "And maybe…” Shane lowered his voice, secretive. “Maybe we can leave your past mistakes in the past.”

He saw Ryan freeze out of the corner of his eye, saw the detective turn his head to stare at him. It was probably a glare, really. Or some other stupidly obvious gesture to make it clear to the room that this had not been previously discussed. But Reileen jumped on it instantly, TJ along with her.

"Yes. Yes, I could do that." She nodded eagerly. "If you could do for me what you just said."

"It's a deal." 

"Shane." Ryan's voice was icy, sharp, along with his glare. "A word. Outside. Now."

Shane retracted his hand from Reileen's, the handshake not quite accomplished. He pushed himself to his feet, scowling at the wall opposite. "Yeah. Sure."

The door had barely shut before Ryan let the words spill out in a furious rush. 

“That was  _not_ part of the deal,” said Ryan loudly, restraining himself from shouting as he guided Shane further down the hall, away from the ears of the two employees. “What the fuck was that? Offering to wipe her past? What right do you think you have to do that?”

“None,” replied Shane simply. “But you had every right to stop me. And you didn’t.”

Ryan turned away, hands on his hips as he paced back and forth in front of the taller man. He looked mad. Very, very mad. Eyes narrowed, stuck to the floor he was currently stomping on like he wished it was a certain someone’s head. Shane remained where he was, cool and collected. And in control. 

“We can’t grant her immunity!” said Ryan after a few minute’s pacing, turning sharply to look at him. “We can’t! She was a goddamn drug pusher, you fucking idiot.”

Shane’s smile dropped at the title granted upon him, his face stiffening. “We won’t be granting her shit.”

“You said you were gonna-”

“Did the words ‘I will grant you immunity’ come from my mouth  _once_ during that conversation?” Shane waited for the realization to dawn on the shorter man’s face. “No, they fucking didn’t. Because we won’t be. She can think what she likes, but at the end of this, she’s not going to get anything wiped. And don’t you  _dare_ call me a fucking idiot ever again, do you understand me?”

Ryan’s wide-eyed realization was swiftly turning to contempt, mouth parted slightly as he glared up at him. “You’re a real piece of shit. You’re lying to her.”

“Yeah, I am. Because you’re fucking useless, and you couldn’t get a confession out of either of them to save your life.” Shane stepped around him, letting his shoulder hit into the shorter man’s, Ryan stumbling a step. “You can thank me later. When you've calmed down.”

Ryan doggedly followed him, back towards the interrogation room. “You can’t lie to her. You can’t.”

“I’m a goddamn lawyer, Ryan. It’s my job to lie.”

“Not with me it’s not.” Ryan said the words so sharply the other man came to a halt, turning to scowl at him. “You won’t be running around acting like you can do what you want, alright? I’m the lead detective on this case. Me. Not you.”

Shane’s face was blank for a long moment, before a small smile crept onto his face. “Well, the fact that you had to remind me of that speaks lengths, doesn’t it?”

“Fuck you.” Ryan pushed past him, storming down the hallway, leaving Shane standing in the middle of the corridor. "I'm going in right now to tell her-"

Shane grabbed his wrist, yanking him back a few steps, the shorter man stumbling back against the wall. Ryan's hand clenched into a fist as he glared right up at him. The shorter man gave a tug, Shane's grip simply tightening, their eyes still locked. 

"Let go of me," said Ryan quietly, knowing full well he could just wrench his hand free if he wanted to. But their deal was still a deal, and he didn't want to start any unnecessary complications between them. "Now."

"I'd advise that you think about what you're doing right now," replied Shane just as quietly, feeling the shorter man's wrist turn in his hand, his skin hot under his fingers. "Because this is a hell of an opening for _your_ investigation that I just gave you. Don't bite the hand that feeds. Alright?"

Ryan exhaled sharply, forcing himself to let his fist unclench, his jaw too. "I think you're a bit confused as to who's doing the feeding here, pal."

"I don't think I am."

"I really think you are."

Shane finally released the shorter man, Ryan whipping his hand away, his fingers taking the place where Shane's had just been. The taller man straightened up, looking down his nose at Ryan, who stared back defiantly. Maybe Ryan was right. Maybe Shane wasn't the one doing the feeding here. But he could still bite as hard as he wanted, because at the end of the day, he could feed himself. He was a hunter, not the prey. But what was Ryan?

"I think we need to talk," said Shane coolly, folding his arms across his chest as he looked down at him. "Maybe discuss some terms and conditions."

"Well I think we're running out of time for that sort of shit," replied Ryan, still a bit peeved at the manhandling he'd just had to experience. "I'm not going to spend this investigation tip-toeing around you, alright?"

Shane was just about to list off the reasons the shorter man should be doing exactly that when his phone rang; Miriam. He gave Ryan a scowl as he turned away, putting the phone to his year. "Yeah?"

"I need to talk with you," she said, seemingly unapologetic about the late time she was ringing him at. As employers tend to be. "First thing in the morning. Bright and early."

He nodded, mentally cursing her. "Yeah, that's fine. First thing."

"Great! See you then!"

He turned on his heel to find Ryan still glowering at him, arms folded across his chest. Shane slipped his phone back into his pocket, an eyebrow raised. The silence lingered for a few long moments.

"Go on, then," said Shane dismissively. "Say what you're _dying_ to say."

"You just-" Ryan rolled his eyes with an impatient 'tut', stepping around him. "Whatever. Don't forget to give me back my shirt."

"But it looks so much better on me," replied Shane dryly, turning to follow the shorter man with his eyes. "Don't you think?"

Ryan paused outside the interrogation room, a hand against the door as he looked back at him. "No comment."

"You should stick with the black shirts anyway, Ryan." He gave him a wink, sauntering backwards. "Looks good on you."

Ryan stared at him for a moment, finally turning his head away, biting on his lip to stop himself from smiling. "White looks good on me too, Shane. So don't forget the shirt."

"If you insist."

* * *

Ryan pulled his earphone out, frowning at the knocking on the door. It was half eleven. Who the hell would be looking for him at half eleven? Maybe Steven had forgotten his keys. But the guy had literally just left. And anyway, Ryan was still up, working on this disaster of a case. Reileen had given a few valuable names, but they were beginning to wander into pretty dangerous territory here. Maybe a distraction would be good; otherwise he might never get asleep. Ryan opened the door, pausing as he saw who it was. He tried to ignore the few skipped heartbeats.

"Here's your shirt," said Shane wryly, handing it over. "As you commanded."

Ryan blinked up at him, suddenly very aware of how shabby he probably looked; glasses on, old grey t-shirt, and he hadn't shaved in a few days. "How'd you get in?"

"Oh, I broke in because I was just so desperate to see you," he said with a crooked smile, still holding the shirt out. "And I just couldn't sleep knowing you were missing your darling shirt so badly."

"Right, right, ha ha. I'm guessing Steven let you in." Ryan took the shirt, glancing back into the apartment. It still smelled like the cheesy bread he'd kind of made and most definitely burned. "Do you want a coffee or anything?"

"Mm, better not." Shane glanced back down the corridor, running a hand through his hair. It simply bounced back into place as he fingers passed through it. "I'm not one for mixing business with pleasure."

Ryan skipped a beat, raising an eyebrow. "And having coffee with me is pleasure, is it?"

Shane didn't reply, his eyes still watching the corridor. "...Well it's not _un_ pleasant. Really."

The shorter man nodded slowly, not looking away as the taller man finally met his gaze again. "What if we discussed business?"

Shane laughed, hands in his coat pockets. The shoulders were damp from being out in the rain. "It's a bit late to be discussing anything serious, isn't it?"

"Just seems like a bit of a waste," shrugged Ryan, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "Driving all the way over here for a two-minute exchange."

The taller man checked his phone, locking it, holding it loosely in his hand. "I suppose I could stay for a quick coffee. And a business discussion."

Ryan stepped aside, closing the door after the taller man. The rain was a constant background noise, but it was a welcome one. Like silence, but not so heavy. Shane shrugged off his coat, folding it over his arm, following the shorter man to the small kitchen area. Ryan was quiet for a moment, back to him, hands resting on the counter. Shane's eyes followed the movement of the shorter man's shoulders as Ryan took a deep breath, the way the grey t-shirt loosely clung to him. Shane swallowed hard, teeth gritting as he took a seat.

"About earlier," said Ryan quietly, the kettle beginning to bubble beside him. "I- I didn't mean to snap like that. I can be a bit... volatile, I guess?"

"No, I should've told you what I was going to do," said Shane, an elbow resting on the table. "I'll accept that it was partially me being an ass."

Ryan leaned back against the counter, arms folded across his chest. "Are we mutually apologizing right now?"

Shane let himself chuckle, smiling. "Yeah. I guess we are."

"A milestone."

"Hell of a milestone."

Ryan turned away to make up the coffees, and also to hide his widening smile. Shane let his eyes travel around the small sitting room near them, noticing a laptop, a bundle of blankets and pillows, headphones, an empty mug beside a dim lamp. He glanced back at Ryan, who was adding milk to the two drinks. Was Ryan Bergara truly a softie at heart? A man who cuddled up in blankets with hot drinks and some atmospheric music while he was working on solving murders? Shane extended a hand for his coffee, finally taking his eyes from the other man's. He hadn't even noticed he was staring. 

"Thanks." He took a sip, nodding. "Mm. Good."

"You don't like sugar, right?" Ryan sat up on the counter, a wry eyebrow raised. "It's for the weak, I believe you said."

"Yeah, and I still stand by that." Shane took a bigger sip, sitting back in his chair, legs crossed out in front of him. "Even though you may prove my theory wrong."

"Meaning?"

"You're not exactly weak." Shane rolled his eyes, laughing. "Jesus, I was basically fighting you after the fundraiser. You kept trying to run away all the time."

Ryan pulled a face. "Yeah. Yeah, I didn't..." He took a deep breath, exhaling heavily. "I didn't do anything stupid, right? Or say anything?"

Shane's mug paused in front of his mouth. "No. No, you didn't do anything."

"At all?"

Shane cleared his throat, seeming to forget that he'd been meaning to take a drink. "Nope. You were fine. Just a bit loud."

"Good." Ryan nodded, eyes closed, seeming very relieved indeed. "Good, I was terrified I might've done something."

"Like what?" Shane immediately dropped his gaze, trying to appear casual as he swallowed a sip of coffee. "What were you worried about?"

Ryan watched him for a moment, eyes a little wide. "Well, I just... The morning after, my shirt buttons were done wrong."

_God fucking damnit_. "Oh yeah. Ha. You tried to just, uh, take off your shirt."

Another moment of silence. "Why?"

Shane placed his mug back on the table, clearing his throat. "You- I just- You tried to- You- Pajamas." He finally looked at him again, well aware that he was blushing furiously. "You thought you were in your apartment, so you tried to get into pajamas. That's all." 

Ryan nodded slowly, fingers tapping an anxious rhythm on his mug. "Right, well... Thanks. For bothering to even take me away from the place."

Shane looked away, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, no, I mean, I wasn't going to just leave you there. Would you have left _me_ there?"

Ryan laughed, a bright sound. "Yeah. Definitely. No hesitation."

The taller man grinned at him. "Well then. I'll remember that next time."

"There's gonna be a next time?" Ryan snorted. "Yeah, I don't think so."

"It's right now, buddy." Shane nodded at the other man's coffee, a half-smile on his face. "Drink up, Ryan. And then I can rescue you once again."

"From my own apartment? Whisk me away to the safety of yours?"

Shane laughed. " _Pretty_ sure that's borderline kidnapping."

"Just a little, yeah."

The taller man shook his head fondly. "Really, I'd love to have seen how you would've handled it if it'd been me who'd been roofied. It's not like you could carry me anywhere."

Ryan gave him a look of mock-hurt. "Excuse me, I could easily lift you."

"It's not the weight that'd be the problem, Ryan." Shane spread his arms. "Look at me. You could throw me over your shoulder and my feet would still be touching the ground."

Ryan stifled his laughter over his coffee, feeling just a little fluttery. Shane smiled back, finishing his own drink. They didn't look away from each other. Were they flirting? Ryan wasn't sure. No, no, he was sure. He just wasn't sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Shane got to his feet, moving to the sink beside Ryan with his now-empty mug. He placed it down. Then he placed his hands on the edge of the sink. He paused for a moment before turning his head to look at Ryan. And Ryan looked back, lowering his mug, his smile slipping slightly. _Oh shit_. He placed his mug aside, not taking his eyes from Shane's. _Oh shit oh shit oh shit_.

The rattling of keys in the door brought them back down to earth with a bump. Shane swiped his coat off the table, crossing the room back towards the door, where Steven had just reappeared. 

"Oh, you're only leaving now?" Steven squinted from one to the other, an eyebrow raised. "Curious."

"Not really," said Ryan dismissively, hoping he sounded more flippant than he felt. His heart was still jumping. "I was just being a great host."

"Oh, the best," said Shane dryly, shrugging his coat back on.

"Well hello and goodbye then, lawyer," smiled Steven, heading into the apartment.

"Goodnight," he replied, buttoning up his coat. He let his gaze linger on Ryan. "And goodnight, Ryan."

Ryan swallowed, wondering why the words sent a shock through him. Not an unpleasant shock, but a shock nonetheless. "Goodnight, Shane."

The door shut. And Ryan realized that that was the first time either had actually said any form of hello or goodbye to each other. He hopped down off the counter, pressing his lips together to hide his smile from Steven. 

"Looking a bit cheery there, Ryan," grinned Steven, giving him a playful nudge. "Love is in the air?"

"Don't," said Ryan flatly, heading back towards his nest on the couch. "And no way. Not with a lawyer."


	8. White, Blue, Gray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pretty short chapter this time, but i wanted to bang it out before i forgot about it

"Madej."

Shane stood in the doorway for a moment before stepping in, shutting it behind him, watching how the edge blended straight into the wall. "Morning."

"Don't look quite so nervous," smiled Miriam, gesturing at the seat in front of her desk. "It's just a quick check-up."

He straightened his tie as he sat, taking a subtle breath. "Yeah, no problem. About the case?"

"About the case." She smiled again, an automatic one. It didn't quite reach her icy eyes. "How are you finding it?"

"...Easier than I expected," he replied, wondering exactly why he was here. 'Check-ups' weren't a thing that he usually had to do. "Johnson & Johnson are basically doing my job for me, really. Handling it well."

"Mm. That's true. Wonderful." She tucked her short blonde hair behind her ear, pensive. "And what about the Feds? Any leads?"

Shane was quiet for a moment, lips pressed together in a line. "I- I don't really know what you want me to do, Miriam."

She turned slightly in her chair, legs crossed as she watched him. "Elaborate."

"It's just..." He let his sentence trail off, rubbing the back of his neck as he thought. "Am I doing something illegal here?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You're a lawyer, Madej. You should know the answer to that."

 _Which means yes. Which means you know exactly what you want me to be doing._  "Isn't it coercion, though? Or intimidation?"

Another steely smile. "That depends on how delicately you're going about it." She sat forwards before he could respond to this, folding her arms on the table. "I heard you and detective Bergara seem to be getting... close."

Shane blinked, more of a flutter of his eyes than anything else. A physical buffering. "As close as necessary."

"So there's no chance of becoming closer to him?"

Okay, now he was uncomfortable. "Like... friends?"

"Friends." She said the word dryly, pausing to smile. "Good friends."

"I-" He laughed, readjusting his seating, straightening his tie again. "I don't know what you're trying to hint here. There's- We're not close. At all."

"Mm. Disappointing."

She got to her feet, strolling around his chair, where he sat wide-eyed, wondering exactly what the hell was going on. Shane threw a sidelong glance up at her, but her eyes were stuck to the grey sky out the giant window. The cool clouds in the distance were about as warm as her eyes.

"I'd like you to get close to him," she finally said. "I think it would be good. For you." _For the case_.

"Miriam, I don't- I'm a bit uncomfortable," he replied, swallowing. "With that. With... getting close to him."

"You don't like him?" She raised her eyebrows. "He's attractive, yes?"

"Well, yeah. I'm not blind." Shane stared at the floor in front of him, feeling himself flush. He was basically being whored out right now. _So much for never becoming a hooker, Madej_. "And if I do get close to him?"

"You don't have to get _too_ close," she said, a sigh to the words. Not a disapproving sigh. An apologetic one. "Just close enough that he'll tell you things that he might not tell others. Close enough for him to trust you."

He got to his feet, and even despite his size, he suddenly felt very small indeed. "I suppose I could try."

"Try. Do." She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. "You're a charming man, Madej. Use it."

She turned away, indicating the end of the meeting. Shane lingered for a moment, his chest feeling uncomfortably tight, before heading back to the door. He shut it behind him, closing his eyes. He fought the urge to lean back against it, to run his hands through his hair, to pace back and forth, to show how panicked he was at these latest orders. It was wrong. It was _wrong_. He wasn't sure if he wanted to do it, really. He didn't have to, technically. He could earn Ryan's trust without getting... intimate with him. Shane hurried back to his office, sitting down, unable to settle, eyes watching everything. He was beginning to like Ryan. To genuinely like him. If Miriam had asked this of him a week ago, Shane probably would've done it no problem. Rang Ryan up, sealed the deal in the Starbucks bathroom down the road. But now, the idea of manipulating Ryan felt a bit... sick. _You should've kept your distance, Madej._ He placed a hand over his eyes, leaning on the desk in front of him. _You shouldn't have gone into his apartment. You shouldn't have gotten to know him_. But he had. So that was that.

He took out his phone, hesitating before sending a quick text to the man in question.

* * *

Ryan paused in front of the cork board, frowning at his phone. He realized he'd paused in breathing, inhaling deeply as he straightened back up at the sound of Andrew's monotonous voice.

"You okay, Ryan?" He sat sifting through the addresses of the names Reileen had given them. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Ryan glanced at him, a pause before he responded. "Uh, yeah. No, it's nothing."

A text from Shane. _You free at 2?_ Ryan excused himself, stepping out of the low chatter of the incident room, into the silence of the hallway. Was this normal? Or was he overthinking it? He took a moment before responding.

_For what?_

_..._

_Business discussion._

Ryan rolled his eyes, wondering how the guy managed to convey sarcasm so clearly even through text. He bit his lip as he wondered what to say back to this blatant lie.

 _I do love a good business discussion_. 

...

_Nichols Bridgeway?_

...

_Yeah. Cool._

He pocketed his phone as he saw Helen teetering down the hallway with a cardboard tray of coffees, quickly going to open the door for her. She smiled at him over the coffee, and he smiled back distractedly, wondering why he felt so guilty about agreeing to meet Shane. He wasn't doing anything bad. Neither of them were. And it wasn't exactly frowned upon. Or would it be? The media was only beginning to die down, back off, let the investigation continue unhindered. They might still jump at the chance to talk about how the lead detective and Johnson & Johnson's hired lawyer were... were what? Talking in public? 

"Hey, Ryan. Knock knock. Anyone in." Andrew handed the room's phone over, raising an eyebrow at how Ryan jumped at his voice. "A Valerie Law?"

Ryan frowned, taking the phone. "Detective Bergara speaking?"

"Yeah, you're the guy who came to the Martini the other night, right?"

Oh, it was the madam. "Yeah. Yeah, it was me. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. But I was just talking to Reileen and TJ, and I just-"

 _Shit_. "Look, I'm so sorry if-"

"Shh, let me finish speaking, man." The sound of air blowing out of her mouth. "Damn. Anyway, it just... sounds like you're going in the wrong direction. Or looking at the wrong color collar."

Ryan paused, gaze drifting. "What do you mean?"

"We're blue collar, detective." A wry smile was audible in her voice. "The scale, the size of those pill murders? That's white collar."

Ryan nodded slowly, rubbing a hand pensively over his mouth. "Are you open tonight?"

A laugh. "Yeah. Every night, man. It's a thriving business." A pause. "Forget I said that."

"I might come by, just to have a chat. That okay?"

A thoughtful silence. "Yeah, Just no flashing badges or guns or any crap, okay?"

"Mmhmm. Cool."

Then she was gone, the phone dead. Ryan placed it back on the hook, standing with his hands on his hips for a long moment. It had only been a short conversation, but it felt like a giant step in the case. Which was stupid, he knew it was. He was just being hopeful. But then again, Law seemed down-to-earth. Wise beyond her years. He went back to the cork board, taking down the list of names Shane had given him what felt like years ago. Maybe he should take a closer look at some of the others on the list, and not just the ones Shane had underlined. _White collar. White collar crime_. _Bribery, embezzlement, laundering, insider trading. Financially motivated, nonviolent_. He turned to Helen, who was busying herself with her laptop.

"Hey, can you get me Tylenol's share of the market before all this shit? And what it is now?"

She nodded, already tapping away. "Yup. Gimme a minute."

"Cool." He looked back at the names, Law's words niggling at his mind. "Cool cool cool."

* * *

It had stopped raining, finally. The sky was still grey, the ground still wet, umbrellas swinging from bags and arms and hands as people took this opportunity to rush from A to B. Millennium Park was emptier than usual, just a few people milling around, walking dogs, sipping coffees, gossiping. 

"You haven't seen the Bean yet?"

"No!" Ryan rolled his eyes at the mock-horror in the other man's voice, his breath fogging in front of him. "I've been working since I arrived! It's not a holiday."

"But it's the almighty Bean, Ryan."  Shane spoke with the dry unenthusiastic manner that residents of a city use when talking about the tourist attractions they grew up with. Ask someone from Toronto about the CN Tower. Ask someone from Dublin about the Spire. Ask someone from London about Big Ben. They don't care. "I'm insulted."

"Then stay insulted." Ryan allowed the taller man to lead nonetheless, weaving through the random pieces of art dotted throughout, the air cold and damp. "I've seen photos. I'm sure that's enough."

"You have to touch the Bean, Ryan. You see the world in a new light." Shane looked back at him, a crooked smile on his face as he brought his coffee to his mouth. "Life-changing. It really is."

"I'm sure." Ryan could already hear the chatter of tourists around the corner, see the reflective surface of the attraction glinting over the small trees. "Is it always busy?"

"Always. Unless it's snowing." Shane glanced at the clouds above. "Which will be soon. Hopefully. Bye bye tourists."

Ryan wandered to a halt, Shane doing the same a few steps ahead. He held his coffee in his gloved hands, watching the sky. "How cold does it get?"

"Too fucking cold." He shrugged, moving back to stand in front of the shorter man. "In the minuses, anyway. And the snow doesn't fuck off until March or April."

"So I need to get this case solved before winter," said Ryan wryly, finally dropping his gaze back to meet Shane's. "Or I'll freeze to death."

"Hm? How cold does it get in LA?"

Ryan paused, looking just a bit ashamed. "About ten degrees."

"Above zero?!" Shane fanned himself, blowing air out through his mouth. "Yikes. That's spicy."

"Shut up." Ryan grinned at him, stepping around him, sauntering backwards towards the sound of chatter. "You Midwesterners think you're so tough. Try surviving a summer in California, big guy."

"Is that an invitation?"

Ryan came to a halt, watching the playful smile on the other man's face. "Yeah. An invitation to hell itself."

"Oh, sweet. I've always wanted to visit."

They came to a stop again, watching each other, smiling ever so slightly. Ryan glanced away, pressing his lips together to hide his growing smile as he pulled his hat down firmer over his head. God, this was stupid. He was having butterflies, like a damn teen. Shane took a sip of coffee, throwing a look at the crowd just visible around the trees.

"Why don't we stick somewhere more private?" he suggested, an eyebrow raised.

Ryan looked up at him, nodding. "Yeah. I'm cool with that."

So they continued on, following the path that wove through the patches of green, puddles dotting the way. Neither spoke for a long moment, sneaking quick glances of each other.

"I didn't tell Steven I was coming to meet you," said Ryan quietly, gaze resting on his coffee cup. "I didn't tell any of my team."

Shane was silent. "I didn't tell anyone either."

"Which is- Which is stupid," said Ryan, gesturing vaguely with his free hand. "Because we're not even doing anything."

"Exactly! We're not." Shane laughed, shaking his head. "We're not doing anything. So I don't know why I feel so... So..."

"Secretive about this?"

"Yeah. Secretive."

Ryan glanced up at him, his teeth catching on his bottom lip as he thought. He was going to ask Shane if he wanted to tag along later, to come back to the Martini. He'd actually turned out to be pretty useful last time. But if this was going the route it seemed to be, Shane could also prove to be a distraction. And that couldn't happen. Not on a case like this. Not on _any_ case. 

"Penny for your thoughts, Ryan," smiled Shane, eyebrows raised as he studied his face. "Pretty troubled face you've got there."

"My face betrays me yet again."

"No, it's nice." Shane shrugged. "I'm surrounded everyday by people who disguise what they're really thinking. It's nice to have someone who just says what they think. Shows what they feel." He lowered his gaze to watch the path they were wandering along. "It's nice to have someone like you."

Ryan's heart fluttered. "Someone like me."

"Someone... Someone grounded." Shane looked at him, a slight pink color across his cheeks, whether or not from the cold, it was hard to tell. "Someone who does what's right. Not for profit. Just because it's the right thing to do." A pause. "I wish I was like that."

Ryan watched him closely, wondering exactly what the other man was really trying to say to him. "You could be like that. I think you _are_ like that."

Shane gave a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Some of us are too far gone, Ryan."

The shorter man frowned at this. "You're, what, thirty? You're not too far gone."

"I'm a lawyer, man. The day I stop doing things for profit is the day I get fired." Shane looked down at him, the two of them once again at a halt. "Everything I do is for someone else. That's how my job works."

 _What are you trying to tell me? What's wrong?_ "...Do you like your job?"

"I did." Shane laughed, more of an exhale than anything else. "I did. Before you came along."

Ryan wasn't sure whether to laugh or not. "What did I do?"

"Nothing." Shane shrugged, continuing on, the shorter man staying by his side. "Literally nothing."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for visual reasons, if anyone's interested:
> 
> Miriam looks like Kristin Lehman (in Altered Carbon)  
> Valerie Law looks like Hayley Law  
> Donaghue looks like Chris Conner  
> Pishos looks like Waleed Zuaiter  
> Reileen looks like Dichen Lachman  
> aka i just finished watching altered carbon and the entire cast owns my ass


End file.
